Summary: When a dangerous unsub turns an undercover operation into his worst nightmare, the sheer panic of almost losing you forces Spencer Reid to drop all his defenses at the most critical second. Once safe in private and far from the team's watchful eyes, they are both forced to confront the aftermath... and everything they had kept bottled up for far too long.
Warnings: Extreme Fluff / Wholesome, Life-Threatening Danger / Angst / Hostage Situation (almost died), Insecurities, Past Trauma, Coworkers to Lovers, No Smut (Clean).
Note: Inspired by Ss 3, Ep9. Enjoy it!!! ˙ᵕ˙
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
Time started moving differently for you. It wasn't about seconds, heart rates, or BAU case stats anymore; you started measuring time in shared coffee runs across the street, little handwritten notes tucked inside the books he lent you, and late-night debates where your laughter made the heavy reality of FBI work feel a whole lot lighter.
As the weeks went on, he caught himself looking for you in the most random moments. You had become his rock on the team, and his encyclopedic mind, once a lonely vault of raw data and numbers, was now packed with tiny details about you: the exact way your voice sounded when you stumbled on a book you loved, the way your eyes crinkled when you were deep in thought, and the sharp wit you used to totally dismantle his heavy theoretical rants with nothing more than a playful joke.
But right alongside that terrifyingly beautiful feeling in his chest was a deep, paralyzing fear.
To him, love was an equation where he just didn't fit. His whole life, he had felt like an oddball in a world moving at a completely different speed. He grew up hearing he was too weird, too intense, or too awkward to ever be loved. Over the years, he built a wall out of science facts and pure logic because hiding behind books was way easier than putting himself out there and getting rejected.
Who could ever actually love a guy like me? he wondered on those late nights staring at his bedroom ceiling. He was terrified of opening up completely, only for you to wake up one day and finally notice all his dark baggage. The thought of you seeing through his deepest insecurities, his social awkwardness, the constant looming shadow of his mother's health, his worst nightmare of losing his mind, and, above all, the invisible scars left by his secret fight with Dilaudid addiction after Tobias Hankel made his stomach churn. Carrying all that made him feel damaged, broken, and straight-up bad for someone as bright and pure as you.
He was convinced that if you ever saw every dark corner of his past, you would bolt, just like everyone else always did. So he kept his mouth shut, standing just a hair away from brushing your hand every time you walked together, soaking up your warmth while terrified of ruining the vibe with a confession that might push you away for good.
He was falling head over heels for you and he knew it for a fact, but the fear of not being enough, of being too damaged, or of not deserving you kept him in this sweet, constant state of torture.
Until that case happened.
The team was working a string of horrific kidnappings. An unsub obsessed with intellectual purity and Victorian courtship rituals was taking young women with a very specific profile: razor-sharp minds, analytical skills, and distinct features. While putting the profile together, it hit the team like a ton of bricks that you were the killer's exact type.
With no solid leads, a risky play was put on the table: you would go in undercover as controlled bait to draw him out. Spencer fought the idea tooth and nail the second it came up in the briefing room, his voice shaking as he rattled off the sky-high risk percentages. But you stepped up with insane courage and volunteered anyway to help catch the guy.
The sting was set up at an abandoned property in rural Maryland, where the unsub was supposed to take the bait under tight FBI watch. But the whole thing went sideways fast. The unsub knew the house's blind spots way better than anyone thought, managed to corner you in the dark on the top floor, and slipped right past security.
Before the team could even react, he grabbed you from behind, pressed a knife to your throat, and used you as a human shield.
When Spencer rounded the corner of the hallway with his gun drawn, his world ground to a halt.
Seeing you trapped right there by a wildcard killer, all because of a plan he was terrified of from day one, sent a chilling shock straight through his body. The guilt of letting you put yourself out there hit him like a freight train, and his usually quick, structured brain went into total meltdown. His hands, which were always rock-solid under pressure, actually started shaking on the grip of his gun.
"Drop the gun or I'll slit her throat!" the unsub screamed, shoving the blade right under your chin.
"Easy... just stay calm," Spencer said, his voice cracking. His wide, terrified eyes locked onto yours. He saw you trying to hold it together despite the trap, but he caught the raw horror in your eyes, and that completely broke him.
In that second of pure terror, his brain totally threw police protocol out the window. All his bottled-up fear, all his doubts about whether he was worthy of love or if his baggage meant he was meant to be alone, instantly melted away when faced with the nightmare of losing you. The thought that the bright, amazing light you brought into his life could be gone just like that because you were put in danger blew every single filter and defense he had to shreds.
"Please don't hurt her..." he begged, taking a tiny step forward, his eyes filling with tears of pure terror. "I'm begging you. Take me instead. She... she didn't do anything wrong. You can't hurt her... because I love her."
The confession spilled right out of his mouth before he could stop it, totally raw and desperate, letting out all the sweetness, vulnerability, and love he had been terrified to admit for months.
"I love her," he said again in a shaky whisper, looking straight at you like the guy holding you wasn't even there. "I love her more than reason itself, more than any fact or scientific truth in this world. If you do anything to her, you destroy the only thing that gives my life meaning."
The unsub froze for a split second, totally thrown off by how real and raw that was. That single second of distraction was all the rest of the team needed; Hotch and Morgan burst through the back door, dropped the unsub in a flash, and tackled him to the floor.
The knife hit the floor with a loud metallic clatter. The second you were free, Spencer dropped his gun without caring at all about protocol or the crime scene and bolted straight for you.
He threw his long arms around you with crazy strength and gentleness all at once. He pulled you tight against his chest, shaking like a leaf as he buried his face in your neck, breathing in the smell of your hair just to convince himself you were alive and okay.
"You're okay... you're safe, you're safe," he kept muttering under his breath, tracing tiny circles on your back like you were made of glass. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. I should've never let you agree to be bait. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you because of us..."
Still riding that massive adrenaline rush, your heart pounding out of your chest, you held him just as tight, wrapping your arms around his neck and feeling his heart racing against yours.
"Hey..." you whispered near his ear, pulling back just an inch or two to look at him. His cheeks were bright red, and his hazel eyes were brimming with unshed tears and total shyness as what he had just yelled out loud finally registered. "What you said back there..."
He blinked fast, suddenly getting hit with a wave of total embarrassment, vulnerability, and that same old fear choking him up again.
"I... I'm so sorry," he stammered out, his voice trembling as he tried to take a step back, looking down at the floor. "My amygdala experienced a disproportionate response under elevated cortisol levels, and... and I disclosed my feelings in a completely inappropriate and ill-timed manner. I didn't mean to scare you or put pressure on you. I know I'm a mess... I know my quirks, my past, the shadow of my own addictions and internal struggles, and the way my brain works can be way too much for anyone to carry... I've always thought someone with as many cracks as me couldn't truly be loved..."
You didn't let him spiral any further into his theoretical panic. You cupped his face in your hands with pure sweetness, forcing him to look right at you, where he found nothing but endless warmth and love. You got up on your tiptoes and pressed a long, sweet kiss to his cheek, leaving him totally speechless and frozen right there.
"You are the most absurdly wonderful, brilliant, brave, and sweet guy on this planet," you told him with a huge smile, your eyes tearing up. "I know your light, I respect your battles, and I love every single part of you, baggage and all. Nothing in your past or in your head scares me off. Logic dictates that I've been in love with you, with your whole soul, and with every single one of your quirks since the very first day you went on a rant about paper autoignition in that bookstore."
He stared at you with wide eyes, feeling every wall of insecurity he had spent a lifetime building crumble to pieces in a split second. Realizing that someone could actually love every part of him, including his most vulnerable sides and his past scars, filled him with a feeling so pure he couldn't stop a tear of pure relief from rolling down his cheek.
A huge, genuine smile, the kind that brought out his deep dimples and lit up his whole face, spread across his lips. He leaned in slow, silently asking for permission, and rested his forehead right against yours.
"That..." he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist so gently, "...is the most perfect, beautiful, and illogical conclusion I've ever heard in my life. Thank you for loving me like this."
They were literally a millimeter away from kissing for the first time when heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.
"Reid, the scene is secure, and local PD is taking custody of the unsub," Hotch interrupted, showing up in the doorway. He had his usual poker face on, but his eyes were noticeably softer seeing the two of you so close.
He tucked his badge back into his jacket and looked right at his younger agent before looking at you. "We'll debrief on the undercover operation and handle paperwork tomorrow at headquarters. You've been through a high-stress ordeal; right now, you need to rest."
Hotch gave him a subtle nod that said it all without needing words.
"Take her home and make sure she rests. That's an order."
"Understood, Hotch," Spencer replied, clearing his throat super fast. You could see the blush climbing all the way up his neck as he let go of you, looking a little shy in front of his boss.
The drive back to your place was quiet and wrapped in a comfortable, sweet silence. He kept both hands glued to the wheel, but he kept glancing over at you every few seconds with a gentle look that slowly washed away the lingering chill of the whole ordeal.
When you got to your door in the hallway, he hung back a step, nervously messing with the strap of his messenger bag.
"Well... you're safe at home now," he said, giving you a small smile. "I'll... let you get some rest. If you need anything, my phone is on, and..."
You reached out and grabbed his hand, cutting off his rambling. You didn't want long explanations or beating around the bush; you just didn't want him leaving your side tonight.
"Don't go," you said softly but firmly, looking him dead in the eye. "Will you stay with me?"
He picked up on the emotional weight of the night right away, figuring without you having to spell it out that the shock and adrenaline were still heavy in the air, even though deep down you knew you just plain wanted his company. His face softened with pure gentleness.
He gave you a quiet nod and followed you inside, locking the door behind him.
After making two mugs of hot tea in the kitchen, you sat close together on the living room couch. The dim lamp light cast a warm, cozy vibe over the room.
You curled up right against his side, wanting his warmth, and he hesitated for just a second before wrapping his long arm around your shoulders, pulling you tight against his chest.
Being this close, feeling the steady, calming thud of his heart, made everything else fade away. He looked into your eyes, and this time there were no doubts, no equations, and no nerdy excuses.
He leaned down really slow, giving you all the time in the world, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was ridiculously sweet, soft, and unhurried, like he was learning how to love you with every single touch.
You let out a soft sigh against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened just a bit into something full of sweet, honest warmth, taking its time, where every touch said everything about how relieved you both were to be safe and together.
He cupped your face in his hands so gently, kissing your cheeks, your forehead, and coming back to your lips over and over between quiet chuckles and soft whispers.
You leaned back with him on the couch, running your fingers through his brown hair as he held you close, pulling a soft blanket over the two of you. He kissed the tip of your nose, making you smile.
"Hey..." you murmured softly, resting your chin on his chest as you traced his shoulder. "I was thinking... with everything that happened on the case, and us being on the same team... aren't we breaking some FBI rule or conduct protocol?"
He went quiet for a second, blinking and pulling that adorably analytical face he always makes when he's going through facts in his head.
"Technically..." he started, fixing his glasses with his free hand, "...the FBI Manual of Conduct explicitly prohibits relationships between agents within the direct line of command if one directly evaluates or supervises the other. But we are peers at the same level within the unit; neither of us supervises the other, and our direct chain of command falls under Hotch. As long as we maintain professionalism during investigations and avoid conflicts of interest during profiling, we aren't violating any official directive. In fact, Hotch didn't even bat an eye when he gave us the order to come here..."
You laughed softly at how classic Reid that response was, and he gave you a cute, slightly shy grin.
"So... in strictly legal and professional terms..." he added, swallowing hard as his blush got a little deeper, "...there is no impediment to what I'd like to do right now."
"And what's that, Doctor?" you teased, looking up at him playfully.
He hastily dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small cardstock bookmark where he had handwritten something earlier that afternoon before the case went down. He handed it over, his fingers shaking a little from nerves.
Drawn on the bookmark was a small normal distribution graph alongside neurochemical equations, and underneath, in super neat handwriting, it read:
Hypothesis: The probability of my happiness increasing exponentially reaches 100% if you agree to be my girlfriend.
Do you accept validating the hypothesis? [ ] Yes [ ] Definitely Yes
"This is the most adorably nerdy proposal anyone has ever given me," you said, beaming from ear to ear as you ran your fingers over the lines on the paper. Then you looked up with a playful smirk.
"But wait, what does this mean? Were you already planning this, or did you just assume I'd say yes?"
His cheeks turned bright red in a second flat. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and looked away at the floor, totally dying of embarrassment.
"No! No, not at all... I mean, I didn't assume anything!" he blurted out, his voice going up an octave as he started talking a mile a minute, eyes wide with panic. "I actually wrote it days ago just to keep it in my notebook in case... well, in case someday way down the road I worked up the nerve to show you. But having it in my pocket today... I don't know, the adrenaline and the thought of losing you caused my limbic system to completely override my prefrontal cortex and... oh God, does it sound too arrogant? If the hypothesis feels rushed or if you'd rather take things slower, I can tear up the paper right now and we can pretend this never happened! I really don't want you to think—"
You cut off his spiraling theoretical panic. Grabbing a pen off the coffee table, you checked the box for Definitely Yes with a little heart next to it and handed it right back before leaning in to give him a deeply tender kiss.
"Hypothesis validated, Doctor," you whispered against his mouth when you pulled back just a bit.
He blinked slowly, taking it in, and all those nervous jitters turned into a huge smile that brought out his dimples. He wrapped his arms around you tight, pulling you to his chest and showering your face with sweet, soft kisses.
"This..." he whispered, resting his forehead against yours while gently stroking your back, "...is the best investigation I've ever done in my life."
Summary: When a dangerous unsub turns an undercover operation into his worst nightmare, the sheer panic of almost losing you forces Spencer Reid to drop all his defenses at the most critical second. Once safe in private and far from the team's watchful eyes, they are both forced to confront the aftermath... and everything they had kept bottled up for far too long.
Warnings: Extreme Fluff / Wholesome, Life-Threatening Danger / Angst / Hostage Situation (almost died), Insecurities, Past Trauma, Coworkers to Lovers, No Smut (Clean).
Note: Inspired by Ss 3, Ep9. Enjoy it!!! ˙ᵕ˙
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
Time started moving differently for you. It wasn't about seconds, heart rates, or BAU case stats anymore; you started measuring time in shared coffee runs across the street, little handwritten notes tucked inside the books he lent you, and late-night debates where your laughter made the heavy reality of FBI work feel a whole lot lighter.
As the weeks went on, he caught himself looking for you in the most random moments. You had become his rock on the team, and his encyclopedic mind, once a lonely vault of raw data and numbers, was now packed with tiny details about you: the exact way your voice sounded when you stumbled on a book you loved, the way your eyes crinkled when you were deep in thought, and the sharp wit you used to totally dismantle his heavy theoretical rants with nothing more than a playful joke.
But right alongside that terrifyingly beautiful feeling in his chest was a deep, paralyzing fear.
To him, love was an equation where he just didn't fit. His whole life, he had felt like an oddball in a world moving at a completely different speed. He grew up hearing he was too weird, too intense, or too awkward to ever be loved. Over the years, he built a wall out of science facts and pure logic because hiding behind books was way easier than putting himself out there and getting rejected.
Who could ever actually love a guy like me? he wondered on those late nights staring at his bedroom ceiling. He was terrified of opening up completely, only for you to wake up one day and finally notice all his dark baggage. The thought of you seeing through his deepest insecurities, his social awkwardness, the constant looming shadow of his mother's health, his worst nightmare of losing his mind, and, above all, the invisible scars left by his secret fight with Dilaudid addiction after Tobias Hankel made his stomach churn. Carrying all that made him feel damaged, broken, and straight-up bad for someone as bright and pure as you.
He was convinced that if you ever saw every dark corner of his past, you would bolt, just like everyone else always did. So he kept his mouth shut, standing just a hair away from brushing your hand every time you walked together, soaking up your warmth while terrified of ruining the vibe with a confession that might push you away for good.
He was falling head over heels for you and he knew it for a fact, but the fear of not being enough, of being too damaged, or of not deserving you kept him in this sweet, constant state of torture.
Until that case happened.
The team was working a string of horrific kidnappings. An unsub obsessed with intellectual purity and Victorian courtship rituals was taking young women with a very specific profile: razor-sharp minds, analytical skills, and distinct features. While putting the profile together, it hit the team like a ton of bricks that you were the killer's exact type.
With no solid leads, a risky play was put on the table: you would go in undercover as controlled bait to draw him out. Spencer fought the idea tooth and nail the second it came up in the briefing room, his voice shaking as he rattled off the sky-high risk percentages. But you stepped up with insane courage and volunteered anyway to help catch the guy.
The sting was set up at an abandoned property in rural Maryland, where the unsub was supposed to take the bait under tight FBI watch. But the whole thing went sideways fast. The unsub knew the house's blind spots way better than anyone thought, managed to corner you in the dark on the top floor, and slipped right past security.
Before the team could even react, he grabbed you from behind, pressed a knife to your throat, and used you as a human shield.
When Spencer rounded the corner of the hallway with his gun drawn, his world ground to a halt.
Seeing you trapped right there by a wildcard killer, all because of a plan he was terrified of from day one, sent a chilling shock straight through his body. The guilt of letting you put yourself out there hit him like a freight train, and his usually quick, structured brain went into total meltdown. His hands, which were always rock-solid under pressure, actually started shaking on the grip of his gun.
"Drop the gun or I'll slit her throat!" the unsub screamed, shoving the blade right under your chin.
"Easy... just stay calm," Spencer said, his voice cracking. His wide, terrified eyes locked onto yours. He saw you trying to hold it together despite the trap, but he caught the raw horror in your eyes, and that completely broke him.
In that second of pure terror, his brain totally threw police protocol out the window. All his bottled-up fear, all his doubts about whether he was worthy of love or if his baggage meant he was meant to be alone, instantly melted away when faced with the nightmare of losing you. The thought that the bright, amazing light you brought into his life could be gone just like that because you were put in danger blew every single filter and defense he had to shreds.
"Please don't hurt her..." he begged, taking a tiny step forward, his eyes filling with tears of pure terror. "I'm begging you. Take me instead. She... she didn't do anything wrong. You can't hurt her... because I love her."
The confession spilled right out of his mouth before he could stop it, totally raw and desperate, letting out all the sweetness, vulnerability, and love he had been terrified to admit for months.
"I love her," he said again in a shaky whisper, looking straight at you like the guy holding you wasn't even there. "I love her more than reason itself, more than any fact or scientific truth in this world. If you do anything to her, you destroy the only thing that gives my life meaning."
The unsub froze for a split second, totally thrown off by how real and raw that was. That single second of distraction was all the rest of the team needed; Hotch and Morgan burst through the back door, dropped the unsub in a flash, and tackled him to the floor.
The knife hit the floor with a loud metallic clatter. The second you were free, Spencer dropped his gun without caring at all about protocol or the crime scene and bolted straight for you.
He threw his long arms around you with crazy strength and gentleness all at once. He pulled you tight against his chest, shaking like a leaf as he buried his face in your neck, breathing in the smell of your hair just to convince himself you were alive and okay.
"You're okay... you're safe, you're safe," he kept muttering under his breath, tracing tiny circles on your back like you were made of glass. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. I should've never let you agree to be bait. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you because of us..."
Still riding that massive adrenaline rush, your heart pounding out of your chest, you held him just as tight, wrapping your arms around his neck and feeling his heart racing against yours.
"Hey..." you whispered near his ear, pulling back just an inch or two to look at him. His cheeks were bright red, and his hazel eyes were brimming with unshed tears and total shyness as what he had just yelled out loud finally registered. "What you said back there..."
He blinked fast, suddenly getting hit with a wave of total embarrassment, vulnerability, and that same old fear choking him up again.
"I... I'm so sorry," he stammered out, his voice trembling as he tried to take a step back, looking down at the floor. "My amygdala experienced a disproportionate response under elevated cortisol levels, and... and I disclosed my feelings in a completely inappropriate and ill-timed manner. I didn't mean to scare you or put pressure on you. I know I'm a mess... I know my quirks, my past, the shadow of my own addictions and internal struggles, and the way my brain works can be way too much for anyone to carry... I've always thought someone with as many cracks as me couldn't truly be loved..."
You didn't let him spiral any further into his theoretical panic. You cupped his face in your hands with pure sweetness, forcing him to look right at you, where he found nothing but endless warmth and love. You got up on your tiptoes and pressed a long, sweet kiss to his cheek, leaving him totally speechless and frozen right there.
"You are the most absurdly wonderful, brilliant, brave, and sweet guy on this planet," you told him with a huge smile, your eyes tearing up. "I know your light, I respect your battles, and I love every single part of you, baggage and all. Nothing in your past or in your head scares me off. Logic dictates that I've been in love with you, with your whole soul, and with every single one of your quirks since the very first day you went on a rant about paper autoignition in that bookstore."
He stared at you with wide eyes, feeling every wall of insecurity he had spent a lifetime building crumble to pieces in a split second. Realizing that someone could actually love every part of him, including his most vulnerable sides and his past scars, filled him with a feeling so pure he couldn't stop a tear of pure relief from rolling down his cheek.
A huge, genuine smile, the kind that brought out his deep dimples and lit up his whole face, spread across his lips. He leaned in slow, silently asking for permission, and rested his forehead right against yours.
"That..." he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist so gently, "...is the most perfect, beautiful, and illogical conclusion I've ever heard in my life. Thank you for loving me like this."
They were literally a millimeter away from kissing for the first time when heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.
"Reid, the scene is secure, and local PD is taking custody of the unsub," Hotch interrupted, showing up in the doorway. He had his usual poker face on, but his eyes were noticeably softer seeing the two of you so close.
He tucked his badge back into his jacket and looked right at his younger agent before looking at you. "We'll debrief on the undercover operation and handle paperwork tomorrow at headquarters. You've been through a high-stress ordeal; right now, you need to rest."
Hotch gave him a subtle nod that said it all without needing words.
"Take her home and make sure she rests. That's an order."
"Understood, Hotch," Spencer replied, clearing his throat super fast. You could see the blush climbing all the way up his neck as he let go of you, looking a little shy in front of his boss.
The drive back to your place was quiet and wrapped in a comfortable, sweet silence. He kept both hands glued to the wheel, but he kept glancing over at you every few seconds with a gentle look that slowly washed away the lingering chill of the whole ordeal.
When you got to your door in the hallway, he hung back a step, nervously messing with the strap of his messenger bag.
"Well... you're safe at home now," he said, giving you a small smile. "I'll... let you get some rest. If you need anything, my phone is on, and..."
You reached out and grabbed his hand, cutting off his rambling. You didn't want long explanations or beating around the bush; you just didn't want him leaving your side tonight.
"Don't go," you said softly but firmly, looking him dead in the eye. "Will you stay with me?"
He picked up on the emotional weight of the night right away, figuring without you having to spell it out that the shock and adrenaline were still heavy in the air, even though deep down you knew you just plain wanted his company. His face softened with pure gentleness.
He gave you a quiet nod and followed you inside, locking the door behind him.
After making two mugs of hot tea in the kitchen, you sat close together on the living room couch. The dim lamp light cast a warm, cozy vibe over the room.
You curled up right against his side, wanting his warmth, and he hesitated for just a second before wrapping his long arm around your shoulders, pulling you tight against his chest.
Being this close, feeling the steady, calming thud of his heart, made everything else fade away. He looked into your eyes, and this time there were no doubts, no equations, and no nerdy excuses.
He leaned down really slow, giving you all the time in the world, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was ridiculously sweet, soft, and unhurried, like he was learning how to love you with every single touch.
You let out a soft sigh against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened just a bit into something full of sweet, honest warmth, taking its time, where every touch said everything about how relieved you both were to be safe and together.
He cupped your face in his hands so gently, kissing your cheeks, your forehead, and coming back to your lips over and over between quiet chuckles and soft whispers.
You leaned back with him on the couch, running your fingers through his brown hair as he held you close, pulling a soft blanket over the two of you. He kissed the tip of your nose, making you smile.
"Hey..." you murmured softly, resting your chin on his chest as you traced his shoulder. "I was thinking... with everything that happened on the case, and us being on the same team... aren't we breaking some FBI rule or conduct protocol?"
He went quiet for a second, blinking and pulling that adorably analytical face he always makes when he's going through facts in his head.
"Technically..." he started, fixing his glasses with his free hand, "...the FBI Manual of Conduct explicitly prohibits relationships between agents within the direct line of command if one directly evaluates or supervises the other. But we are peers at the same level within the unit; neither of us supervises the other, and our direct chain of command falls under Hotch. As long as we maintain professionalism during investigations and avoid conflicts of interest during profiling, we aren't violating any official directive. In fact, Hotch didn't even bat an eye when he gave us the order to come here..."
You laughed softly at how classic Reid that response was, and he gave you a cute, slightly shy grin.
"So... in strictly legal and professional terms..." he added, swallowing hard as his blush got a little deeper, "...there is no impediment to what I'd like to do right now."
"And what's that, Doctor?" you teased, looking up at him playfully.
He hastily dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small cardstock bookmark where he had handwritten something earlier that afternoon before the case went down. He handed it over, his fingers shaking a little from nerves.
Drawn on the bookmark was a small normal distribution graph alongside neurochemical equations, and underneath, in super neat handwriting, it read:
Hypothesis: The probability of my happiness increasing exponentially reaches 100% if you agree to be my girlfriend.
Do you accept validating the hypothesis? [ ] Yes [ ] Definitely Yes
"This is the most adorably nerdy proposal anyone has ever given me," you said, beaming from ear to ear as you ran your fingers over the lines on the paper. Then you looked up with a playful smirk.
"But wait, what does this mean? Were you already planning this, or did you just assume I'd say yes?"
His cheeks turned bright red in a second flat. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and looked away at the floor, totally dying of embarrassment.
"No! No, not at all... I mean, I didn't assume anything!" he blurted out, his voice going up an octave as he started talking a mile a minute, eyes wide with panic. "I actually wrote it days ago just to keep it in my notebook in case... well, in case someday way down the road I worked up the nerve to show you. But having it in my pocket today... I don't know, the adrenaline and the thought of losing you caused my limbic system to completely override my prefrontal cortex and... oh God, does it sound too arrogant? If the hypothesis feels rushed or if you'd rather take things slower, I can tear up the paper right now and we can pretend this never happened! I really don't want you to think—"
You cut off his spiraling theoretical panic. Grabbing a pen off the coffee table, you checked the box for Definitely Yes with a little heart next to it and handed it right back before leaning in to give him a deeply tender kiss.
"Hypothesis validated, Doctor," you whispered against his mouth when you pulled back just a bit.
He blinked slowly, taking it in, and all those nervous jitters turned into a huge smile that brought out his dimples. He wrapped his arms around you tight, pulling you to his chest and showering your face with sweet, soft kisses.
"This..." he whispered, resting his forehead against yours while gently stroking your back, "...is the best investigation I've ever done in my life."
summary: you’re having a rough night with your family and need a break, so you leave the house and end up at ellis’ place. he doesn’t ask too many questions, he just lets you stay and makes sure you know you don’t have to be alone.
pairings: ellis x fem!reader
a/n: hello guys… i know i always disappear and IM SORRYYYYY but im currently so obsessed with this show! i loved itt and where the fuck are the fics????? so here i am making one i might also make one for ramona because i love her. ramona and ellis might be my favs… UHH ok i hope you guys enjoy my ass writing and don’t forget to send requests!!! omg school starting for me again.. fml.
you hadn’t really planned on going anywhere but you just knew you couldn’t stay in your house anymore. everything your family did was just making out mad and they just judged you for everything and never helped you.
the argument had started over something stupid, like most arguments with your family did. it was always something small that somehow turned into something bigger, and before you knew it, you were standing in your room with your eyes burning and your chest feeling tight.
you grabbed your hoodie and left before anyone could stop you and didn’t even think about where you were going until you were already halfway there.
ellis.
for some reason, whenever you were having a bad day, he was the first person you thought about. you didn’t even know if he was home, or if he’d even want you showing up this late, but you still kept walking.
and by the time you got to his house, you were already regretting it. You stood on his porch for a few seconds, staring at the door.
“fuck.” you almost turned around because you suddenly thought this was a bad idea.. what if he’s not up?
then the door opened.
and the second ellis opened the door and saw you standing there, he knew something was wrong. you were trying so hard to keep your face straight, but your eyes were already red and there were still tears sitting on your cheeks. you looked away from him quickly, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie like you could somehow pretend he hadn’t noticed.
“hey,” he said quietly.
you looked down, wiping your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie. “hi.”
ellis didn’t ask what happened. he’d known you long enough to know that if you wanted to talk about it, you would. instead, he stepped aside and opened the door wider for you.
“come in.”
you walked past him, keeping your head down as he shut the door behind you. for a second, neither of you said anything. you stood there awkwardly in the middle of his living room, suddenly wondering if coming here had been a stupid idea.
ellis looked at you again before walking over and gently taking your hand. “come on,” he said softly. “sit down.”
he led you over to the couch and sat beside you, leaving enough space for you to move closer if you wanted to. you stared down at your hands, trying to keep yourself together, but the second you felt his hand rest against your back, your eyes started filling up again.
“hey,” he murmured, holding your hand. “it’s okay.”
you shook your head, trying to laugh it off even though your voice came out shaky. “i’m sorry. i don’t even know why i’m here.”
“you don’t have to be sorry.”
that makes you look at him
“you can come here whenever you want.” he says it in the most soft voice ever.
that was enough to make another tear fall, and you quickly wiped it away. ellis didn’t say anything about it. he just stayed beside you, his hand still resting in yours like he wasn’t going anywhere.
after a few quiet seconds, you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. he shifted slightly so you could get comfortable, then looked down at you.
“you wanna tell me what happened?”
you were quiet for a moment, staring down at your hands before finally letting out a shaky breath. “it’s just my family. we got into this huge argument and i know it’s probably stupid, but i just—i don’t know. i feel like everything is my fault. maybe if i had just kept my mouth shut, none of it would’ve happened and i wouldn’t have made everything worse.”
ellis frowned slightly, watching you as you kept talking before you could even give yourself a second to breathe.
“and i know i shouldn’t have left, because now they’re probably even more pissed at me, and i should’ve just stayed there and dealt with it. i always do this, i make everything worse and then i run away when things get hard and—”
“hey.”
you stopped.
ellis was looking at you, his expression soft but serious. “it’s not your fault.”
you opened your mouth, but he shook his head before you could argue with him.
“no. don’t do that,” he said quietly. “don’t sit here and blame yourself for everything just because you’re upset.”
you looked away, blinking quickly as your eyes started filling with tears again. “but i could’ve handled it better.”
“maybe,” he said, not trying to completely dismiss what you were saying. “but that doesn’t mean you deserved to feel like this.”
you stayed quiet, rubbing your sleeve between your fingers.
“you needed a break,” he continued. “so you took one. that’s all.”
“i just hate that i can’t fix anything.” you said looking away from him you just couldn’t look.
“you don’t have to fix it tonight.”
but that made you look up at him again..
ellis gave you a small shrug, his hand moving back to your arm. “you came here because you needed somewhere to go. so stay.”
your lip trembled slightly, and you quickly looked down again. “i’m sorry,” you whispered.
“for what?”
“for showing up like this.”
he almost looked confused by that. “you don’t have to apologize for coming to me.”
that finally broke whatever little bit of composure you had left. you covered your face with your hands, letting out a quiet, shaky breath as the tears started falling again.
ellis didn’t say anything for a moment. but seeing you cry?? he didn’t hesitate and pulled you into his arms immediately. you moved closer, letting him pull you into his chest as his arms wrapped around you.
you buried your face against his shoulder, gripping the back of his hoodie while he held you tightly.
ellis rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, one hand moving slowly up and down your back.
you stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing. slowly, the tight feeling in your chest started to fade, and you finally pulled back just enough to look at him.
ellis looked down at you, his hand still resting against your back. neither of you said anything for a moment. you were still close, and you could feel his eyes moving over your face like he was making sure you were actually okay.
“you okay?” he asked quietly.
you nodded. “yeah. a little.”
he smiled softly. “good.”
neither of you moved. you looked down for a second, suddenly nervous about how close you still were. when you looked back up, ellis was already looking at you.
“what?” you asked quietly.
“nothing.”
you gave him a small smile. “you’re staring.”
“i know.”
you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “you’re weird.”
“yeah, probably.” there was another quiet moment, but this one felt different. ellis looked at you for another second before his eyes dropped to your lips. he hesitated, almost like he was giving you the chance to move away.
you didn’t.
instead, he leaned closer and kissed you.. the kiss was soft and quick because he wanted to make sure you wanted this and he didn’t just make a mistake. “sorry,” he murmured. “i just—”
you shook your head, cutting him off. “don’t be.”
he smiled a little. you looked at him for another second before quietly saying, “do that again.”
ellis didn’t need to be told twice. he leaned in and kissed you again, and this time you smiled against him, your hand lightly gripping the sleeve of his hoodie.
you shift your weight on top of him, and he seems to go still for half a second like he’s trying to catch up with how close you are. then his arms tighten on your waist without letting it break. his mouth deepens against yours, slow and warm, like he’s savoring every second he gets.
you rock gently, and he makes a soft sound right into the kiss, breathing unevenly as his hand slides to your thigh and holds you there. when you pause, even for a moment, he doesn’t let the moment pass he cups your face with his other hand and presses closer, forehead brushing yours as he kisses you again, longer this time.
and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel like you needed to go anywhere.
OKAY WE AINT GETTING TOO FREAKY NOW- that was so hard to write because i don’t go that far i just do a kiss and call it a day.. lmao. to all my smut writers… ur amazing idk how you do it. KEEP IT UPPPP! but anyways how did you guys like this?? guys be honest is it good because i always don’t like my writing. so let me know.. I HOPE U GUYS ENJOYEDDD AND U CAN SEND MORE REQUESTS FOR STERLING POINT (i do others to not just ellis but promise ramona fic coming soon) BYEE!!!!
★ summary: when spider-man comes to yelena for help, he doesn’t expect you to be there. you don’t expect for him to be so hot
★ pairing: spider-man x widow!reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, public sex, accidental vouyerism, web kink, web play?, enhanced!sperm, cum play, cream pie, mask stays on during sex (but reader is into it)
★ word count: 5.7k words
★ notes: putting myself in horny jail for this one
The steam curling on top of the water was thick enough to blur the edges of the room, hot enough that every inhale burned pleasantly at the back of your throat. It clung to your skin in a permanent sheen, damp strands of hair sticking stubbornly to your temples while eucalyptus hung heavy in the air. Next to you, Yelena dissolved into another fit of laughter, the movement of her shoulders sending a wave across the pool that splashed directly into your face and soaked the hair you’d spent the last ten minutes trying to keep dry.
“Сестра,” you hissed through a laugh of your own, swatting uselessly at the water before shoving her shoulder. “I told you to stop doing that.”
“Your hair,” She droned on, eyes rolling dangerously hard. “You look fine, hair will be fine there’s good essential oils in the water.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very untrusting?” She raises a brow playfully.
Your eyes narrowed, already preparing another comeback when the heavy grated iron door groaned open from the other side of the room. Years of training settled over you before you even realized it had happened, your gaze snapping toward the entrance before flicking immediately to Yelena.
“Were you expecting company?”
She made an exaggerated show of thinking about it, lips pursed and finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin before her expression broke into an impossibly smug grin.
“Oh. Right.”
A figure in bright red stepped hesitantly through the haze, stopping just inside the doorway as though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d walked into the correct room. Spider-Man looked between the two of you, then back toward the hallway as if debating on running. As if seeing two naked widows was the biggest threat he’d seen all day.
Yelena didn’t give him the chance. “Take off your clothes.”
“W-what?”
“You don't wear clothes in the banya, ditch the leotard.” She ordered.
“This is not a leotard.” He shuffled awkwardly, his arms moving around his sides aimlessly. “Uh, your tech told me this was your office?”
Yelena’s arms went up, “This is my office. Get in.”
His entire body tenses, “I’m fine thanks-“
“Waa, waa.” Yelena laughs, “My office, my rules.”
He’s not biting, which makes you stifle a laugh. The silence stretched just long enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Yelena leaned forward conspiratorially, as though she were making him the deal of a lifetime.“You get to enjoy a very nice, relaxing soak..“
You finally took pity on him, and picked up where she intentionally left off. “And we get confirmation you aren’t carrying any weapons. Everybody wins.”
His masked head turned toward you, the eyes on his suit getting animatedly larger.
“…Seriously?”
You smiled sweetly. “Seriously. I’ve learned to stop fighting her on it, it’s very nice in here.”
His shoulders sagged in the unmistakable posture of someone realizing resistance was entirely pointless. With a defeated sigh, he shuffled toward one of the wooden stalls. The stall door clicked shut behind him, and almost immediately the muffled rustle of fabric echoed through the room. At the same time, Yelena lazily stirred the water with one hand, looking altogether too pleased with herself.
“He said it was some small potato problem,” she murmured, effortlessly slipping into Russian. “Figured two Avengers could help him with intel.”
You hum, “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?”
“I forgot.”
“I don’t believe you.” You rolled your eyes, earning another satisfied grin from her just as the wooden stall creaked open. Spider-Man stepped out clutching a white towel around his waist with both hands like it was a lifeline. His shoulders were tense enough to rival a man walking into an execution, his face hidden behind the mask he’d somehow insisted on keeping despite surrendering the rest of the suit.
You had expected him to be lean, scrawny almost.
Instead, you found yourself staring for half a second longer than intended.
The suit had done him absolutely no favors. Beneath it were years of relentless training, packed onto a frame that looked carved from stone, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle defined by years of keeping the city safe. His arms alone looked capable of lifting a car without much effort, his biceps so absurdly large you were fairly certain one of them rivaled the size of his own head.
You caught Yelena watching your expression from the corner of your eye. The smug little smile spreading across her face told you she had noticed your momentary lapse immediately.
Yelena burst into laughter, which stopped abruptly when she realized he was in fact not actually going to take the mask off.
“Wait, you’re serious? You’re not going to take it off?”
He slips into the water, “It would defeat the whole anonymous thing.”
“Even for your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever.” She trails off, “You know there’s fanart-“
You tuned her out almost immediately, letting the words fade into meaningless background noise while she enthusiastically listed the bizarre piece of online fan art she’d stumbled across. You had long ago accepted that Yelena somehow found herself on the strangest corners of the internet imaginable, usually against her own will and yet somehow always with enough curiosity to constantly send links to the group chat. Bucky had blocked her long ago.
The first night she downloaded Twitter, she had run into the common room, her tablet clutched in her hand her eyes searching for Bucky as he very innocently was eating his popcorn. “Barnes, have you ever heard of Sambucky? Or a website called AO3?”
You’re pulled out of the memory when Spider-Man speaks up again.
“- Look, I don’t have anyone. I kinda keep to myself.”
“All by yourself? All the time?” Her voice falls. “No wonder you’re so sad.”
“I’m not so sad.” He lies, his voice rising a pitch.
“A little bit.” She mumbles, then her shoulders straighten as if she just got the idea of a lifetime. “You know, my sister here is very lonely too. She says she is not, but yet every weekend she is with me or eating ice cream pretending we cannot hear her watching those horrible American movies through the walls.”
You turn your head to her, expression blank. “Yelena.”
“Can we talk about what I came here to talk about? The attack on Damage Control. ” Spider-Man buts in, making you nod in agreement.
“Yes, can we?”
“Right,” The shit-eating grin is still wide on her face, “So that is more your area. Like small potato, whereas the New Avengers are focusing on big potato stuff.”
“Right, there’s more to it than that.” He adds. Going on about what he had learned the past day and giving details of the incident that had not been made public yet.
The warmth of the water settled around you as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers across its surface, watching small ripples spread between the three of you while you pieced together everything he was saying. After a long moment, you glanced toward Yelena.
“So you think it’s something like what they used on us?” you asked quietly. “The conditioning. Whatever they did to the other widows.”
“That was my first thought,” Spider-Man admitted, looking toward Yelena.
“It’s not,” She replied without a second’s hesitation.
Spider-Man frowned beneath the mask. “You’re sure?”
”It is more like possession."
You hum, your hands still moving the water around in front of you as they talk, letting Yelena fill the two of you in on what she knew. Unfortunately, every road ended exactly where it had begun. The New Avengers had no additional intelligence, no active investigation, and no plans to divert resources toward Damage Control while larger threats occupied their attention.
Spider-Man didn’t argue, but disappointment settled visibly across his shoulders all the same. The hopeful energy he’d arrived with slowly disappeared beneath the weight of another dead end, and after sitting quietly for a moment, he let out a long sigh before pushing himself up from the water.
“Fine,” he muttered, reaching for the towel he’d left folded on the bench. “I’ll just go ask Damage Control myself.”
You very intentionally kept your eyes fixed somewhere above his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the beads of water slowly tracing paths over abs that the suit had done an excellent job of concealing. Or the way the veins in his muscles flexed when he pulled himself up. Or the way his boxers clung to his thick thighs.
“You know,” Yelena said with far too much innocence to be trusted, “you’re not completely anonymous anymore.”
Spider-Man paused in the middle of grabbing his clothes. “What?”
“I’ve seen your belly button.”
All you could do was sigh, letting your body sink further into the water until your chin was covered.
“…Uh,” Spider-Man finally managed after several painfully long silent seconds, “okay.”
“Goodbye, Yelena,” he said, already halfway through the doorway before remembering to glance toward you. “And… goodbye, Y/N.”
The heavy iron door barely had time to swing shut behind him before he was gone, leaving a trail of wet footprints stretching down the hallway outside. You waited until the echo of his footsteps disappeared before leaning over and bumping your shoulder against Yelena’s.
”You’ve scared him off.”
“Hmm, something is telling me you’ll see him again.” She smirks.
Before you had the chance to ask what exactly that was supposed to mean, Yelena slipped beneath the surface without another word, disappearing completely beneath the rippling water while you were left staring after her, equal parts amused and unconvinced.
News of the attacks seemed impossible to escape days later. Every television hanging in an airport terminal, every radio crackling through military transports, every phone notification carried another version of the same story, each one somehow more unbelievable than the last.
The majority of your updates came from Yelena, whose texts arrived at all hours of the day with the urgency of someone who had remembered a detail halfway through another conversation. It was a lot of, “Just talked to Spider-Man;)))))) u wish this was u huh?????”
You and Bucky had spent the better part of the week chasing leads that dissolved into nothing before you could ever get close enough to investigate. Reconnaissance, surveillance, more reconnaissance, another anonymous tip that turned into an abandoned warehouse with little more than stale coffee cups and dust to show for it. By the time your transport finally touched back down stateside, you felt like you’d spent more time staring through binoculars than actually accomplishing anything.
“Remind me why people still choose to live in New York,” you muttered as you dropped a thick stack of mission reports onto Val’s desk with enough force to make the folders slide apart. “
“I’ve stopped wondering.” Bucky admitted, “It was nicer in the 40s.”
You sighed, rubbing absentmindedly at the side of your neck where the edge of your Kevlar vest had spent the last several days digging relentlessly into your skin. The movement earned an immediate wince as the irritated patch protested beneath your fingertips.
“You should put ice on that,” Bucky said, noticing before you’d even finished reaching for it. He shrugged off his own tactical vest with considerably more irritation than necessary before tossing it onto the chair beside him. “Couple more days in these things and it’s going to rub you raw. These vests are garbage.”
“They’re definitely not sized correctly.”
“They’re not sized correctly because procurement buys whatever’s cheapest.”
A tired laugh escaped you. “I think Val just hates us.”
“I’ll have her order us different sizes,” he continued, already looking toward her office despite knowing she was deliberately never here. “These are shit.”
You smiled despite yourself, unfastening the last strap before setting your own vest aside. “Thanks, Bucky.”
“So what’s next?”
“I think…” You stretched your shoulders until your back gave a satisfying pop. “I might stop by Yelena’s office.”
He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Checking on your sister?”
“And Spider-Man.” You said casually, “Heard he got shot, she’d know how he’s doing”
“Oh? That’s it huh?”
“I just want to know how his Damage Control adventure went.” You defended yourself, despite there being no reason to.
Bucky laughed quietly through his nose. “Good luck with that.”
“Yelena?” you called as you nudged the heavy iron door open with your shoulder, expecting to be greeted by either an insult or something thrown in your general direction.
Instead, silence answered you.
The bath sat empty, steam lazily drifting through the room while the familiar scent of cedar, herbs, and eucalyptus lingered in the warm air. The water rippled softly beneath the lantern light, untouched except for the occasional drip falling from the ceiling into the pool below. You still wondered how this building managed to keep up with the humidity.
You frowned, pulling your phone from your pocket.
I’m at your office. Where are you?
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
running 2 get food
Another notification popped up before you could even lock your screen.
do u want blini
wait no dumplings
there's an ice cream cart do u want
of course u want why do i ask
Then another.
I'll get them all brb
there's new vodka stashed under the third bench, landlady got a new bottle from home country
You couldn’t help smiling.
thanks. I’ll warm the bath for you. bring me a tea
Her reply came so quickly you wondered if she’d been holding the phone the entire time.
yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy girly time
Chuckling to yourself, you slipped your phone onto one of the dry benches before slipping your clothes off in an untidy pile until all that remained was the comforting humidity wrapping around your skin.
You eased yourself carefully down the stone steps until the water climbed past your ankles, your knees, your waist, every aching muscle loosening a little more with each inch. The heat seeped deep into your bones, unraveling tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying since boarding the quinjet days earlier.
By the time the water reached your shoulders, the exhaustion finally caught up with you.
A quiet, involuntary moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back against the smooth stone edge of the bath, your eyes slipping closed while the warmth wrapped around every sore joint and bruised muscle. For the first time in what felt like days, your breathing slowed, your shoulders finally relaxed.
So completely, in fact, that you never heard the heavy iron door slowly creak open behind you.
”Uh, Ms. Y/n?” A timid voice spoke, making the tension rise back in your shoulders as you jumped. The bright red suit made your heart race out of shock and a weird sense of nervousness at being here alone with him.
“G-God, I’m so sorry,” he blurted, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his footing on the damp stone. His back was to you before you’d even managed to respond, his hands raised awkwardly as if surrendering. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Yelena said she’d be here today and I just… I thought…” He groaned quietly to himself.
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.
“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. “Really. She’s just getting food. She should be back any minute.”
“I’ll just wait here.”
“Spidey,” You pout playfully, splashing the water to beckon him in, “Join me.”
“Are you sure?”
”Yes.”
“I was actually…” He hesitated, sounding almost embarrassed to admit it. “I was kind of looking forward to the soak.”
That pulled a genuine laugh from you. “Right?”
He glanced over his shoulder just enough that you caught the sheepish grin tugging beneath the edge of the mask.
“I wasn’t sure if it was weird that I was, I’ll just change.”
“It took me a while too,” you admitted, as he disappeared into the stall, “The first time Yelena dragged me down here I thought she’d finally lost her mind. Now I’m her after almost every mission.”
”Man,” He says through muffled fabric, equipment dropping on the wood bench, “I’d love to come and soak after a long day.”
“I’m sure Yelena would allow it, as long as you don’t throw a party in here or tell anyone or make a mess.” You drag on, smiling as he came into view. This time with no towel wrapped around him, just his boxers clinging expertly to him as he stepped inside the water.
He leaned back against the stone edge with a contented sigh, finally allowing his shoulders to drop. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked… peaceful.
It was then your eyes caught the scar.
Angry red tissue stretched across his side just beneath his ribs, the wound still fresh despite already being sealed shut. The edges remained inflamed, the skin surrounding it slightly pink from rapid healing that no ordinary body should have been capable of.
He followed your gaze and instinctively looked down at himself. “Oh, that.”
One hand brushed lightly across the mark before he flexed experimentally, watching the skin pull without discomfort.
”I was going to ask, how you were doing. Yelena was giving me updates.”
“Doctor’s said it will leave a nasty scar, but I heal faster than most.” His voice is quieter now, reflective as you stare at him. “I can barely feel it.”
“This was a gunshot that almost killed you, just days ago?”
He nodded, sensing your hesitation. “You can touch it.”
He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d offered. Maybe because it didn’t hurt anymore, or maybe because the concern written so plainly across your pretty face made something warm settle in his chest. There was something strangely comforting about it, enough that he found himself hoping you would say yes before he’d even realized he’d been hoping at all.
You held his gaze through the mask for a brief moment, silently asking if he was certain, and when he gave another small nod you pushed gently through the water until barely a foot separated the two of you. The movement sent soft ripples across the surface, brushing against his shoulders as you lifted your hand. Instead of pressing your palm directly against the wound, the backs of your knuckles grazed lightly across the newly healed skin, careful enough that it almost wasn’t a touch at all.
“I heal faster due to a diluted version of the serum they give us widows, but nothing like this.” Your fingertips traced lightly around the edge of the injury without putting pressure on it, fascinated by how smooth the tissue already felt. “But nothing like this. This shouldn’t even be closed yet.”
“Y-Yeah…”
The word caught somewhere in his throat.
A visible shiver rolled across his shoulders, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water. It was the realization that you were standing impossibly close now, naked underneath the murky water, and close enough that he could count the droplets of water clinging to your shoulders, close enough that every sensible thought he’d had moments earlier evaporated into steam.
His eyes betrayed him.
For only the briefest second, they dipped downward before he caught himself, snapping immediately back to your face with an expression that could only be described as horrified with himself.
“I’ve…” He cleared his throat a little too forcefully. “I’ve been having some issues with my DNA and the spider thing.”
“The spider thing.” You echo, urging him to continue.
He rubbed the back of his neck, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but directly at you.
“It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but my arachnoid DNA started climbing way higher than it’s supposed to. I was acting… not exactly like myself for a while.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, struggling to summarize weeks of bizarre mutations. “I’ve started shooting webs out of my actual wrists instead of using web shooters, and apparently that’s only one of the side effects. Everything is stabilizing now, though. I’m… mostly normal again.”
Your expression shifted from amusement to fascination almost instantly. “Out of your wrists?”
Before he could answer, your hand had already slipped from his side to his forearm. Your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, turning it over in the warm water until the small opening nestled against his skin came into view.
“I used to make web fluid, but now it’s all homegrown.” He jokes, but goes silent when you don’t laugh instead you’re too fascinated.
“Do you shoot webs from other places?”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. No, no.” He shook his head so quickly a few damp curls escaped the edge of the mask. “Just… just the wrists. I’m very normal everywhere else.”
A small hum escaped you, thoughtful more than anything else.“That’s a shame.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“I said that’s a shame.”
“No, I heard you. You sound… disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, finally releasing his wrist. “I just think it would’ve been kind of interesting.”
For a long second he simply stared at you.
“What? I like spiders too, you know?”
Then a laugh escaped him, bright and completely unrestrained, echoing warmly off the cedar walls. He shook his head, still smiling to himself as he looked down at the water between you.
“You widows,” he shook his head, “You guys are something else.”
“Hmm, and what about you, Spidey? What are you?”
He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the first night he officially met you in this bath, the towel clutched around him while Yelena spoke enough for the both of you.
“I am lonely,” he admitted at last, the confession coming softer than he’d intended. There wasn’t any self-pity in his voice, only a quiet sort of acceptance. “It’s… gotten better lately. A lot better, actually. But your sister was right.” He laughed weakly to himself, shaking his head. “I hate giving her that satisfaction.”
Your smile widened despite yourself. “So do I, but alas she keeps being right.”
He shifts a little closer, either consciously or subconsciously you don’t know. Close enough that you could make out the constellation of freckles scattered across his shoulders. Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing over the gentle splash of water against the stone. Close enough that every time either of you shifted even slightly, your knees threatened to brush.
For reasons neither of you could explain, the room suddenly felt much warmer than it had a moment before.
“I’m not very good at… this,” Peter admitted with a nervous smile, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to people, getting close to people. I mean I think you’re the first person to touch me in years. Is that depressing?”
“A little.” You admit with a playful smile. “But I understand. Our lives, it’s impossible to have normal relationships.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He breathes out, and neither of you move. You both just sit there, relaxing against the concrete wall. The tension between the two of you is electric, it’s like every drop of water is drawing you closer to him.
The silence is only broken when he decides to speak up, “She sure is taking a while.”
“She sure is…” You turn to him, “You really never take the mask off for anyone?”
He shakes his head, “I try not to.”
You watch the fabric strain against his lips, and you yearn to see how plump they are. What shade of pink, how they’d feel against your own. You wanna see his nose, feel it pressed against your skin, to watch his eyes as you touch him.
“Not even a little?” You ask, your palms moving up to cup his cheek.
“It’s easier this way.” He says and he’s not sure if he’s telling you, or trying to convince himself. His body ignites with each rub of your fingers against the fabric.
You sit up, your hands falling to his shoulders.
“Is this okay?”
“More than okay.” He whispers, in awe as you practically tangle yourself in his lap. He holds you gracefully, and respectfully as you straddle him. You can feel his boxers against your inner thigh as his hands hover respectfully on the outside of your ribcage to keep you balanced.
Your fingertips trace the outline of his face, trying to memorize the feel of his cheekbones.
“I’ve spent so long wondering what you look like under there,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than your own breathing.
“Just like anyone else.” He managed to get out, his mouth going dry as he all but melted underneath your touch.
“I find that,” You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his fabric-covered forehead, “Very hard to believe.”
He shivers, fingers digging into your skin as you press long kisses down his cheeks right to where the mask ends and his skin begins.
“Would you,” The warmth of your breath makes the hair on his neck stand up, “Be willing to move the mask up about, an inch or two?”
“I-“
“You don’t have to.” You remind him, leaning back to catch his eyes again. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable-“
One hand leaves your skin, pulling the mask up just enough to expose his plump and waiting lips. There’s barely enough time to stare at the new part of him before he's pulling your lips into his. It’s a little clumsy at first, awkward with the bunched-up mask rubbing against your nose, but you make it work. His lips were warm against yours, opening his mouth at the first swipe of your tongue against it.
He pulls away with a gasp, “Can I touch you?”
You’re nodding before he can get it out, letting his head drop down so his mouth could suck and bite at your chest. Your nipples are pebbled by being exposed to the cool air, only warming once he pulls one into his warm and waiting mouth.
One of his hands is already guiding your legs apart, his fingers slipping in between your folds.
“You’re so wet.” He whispered against your tits.
“We’re in water.” Your eyes were closed, relishing the feeling of the gentle circles he was rubbing into your aching clit.
“And I’ve been able to smell you since I walked in, you can’t hide from me.”
Your heart rate picks up, and he no doubt feels that too as he slips a finger inside of you. You’re all but grinding against his fingers, your clit brushing against the raised spot on his wrist.
“F-fuck,” You cry out, “Can feel your wrist throbbing against me.”
“It wants to shoot webs at you, wants to wrap you in them. Keep you all for myself,” He whispers, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck my webs into you.”
There’s no shame to be had at the fire that licks in your lower belly at his words as you nod frantically.
In a split second you’re being pulled up from the water, and laid down on a towel. Your head propped up by his discarded suit bunched up as he hovers above you.
He leans down and licks a strip of water droplets from your tits, before his hand travels back down to your cunt.
There’s a soft hiss as his webs disperse onto you, they’re warm and sticky and practically dissolve into your wetness as he slides two fingers inside of you. With each brush of your clit against his wrist, he dribbles out fluid that only makes him fuck into you faster. His fingers curl expertly, and the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bath are lewd.
“You’re so dirty,” He growls against your skin, feeling every nerve on his body stand up. The inhibitor did little to quell just how feral he felt pressed against you. His cock was hard in his boxers, rutting against the soft skin of your leg to dull the ache. “You know, this is how spiders mate. They roll their sperm into webs and fuck them into the female.”
Your moan is broken off into confusion as you watch him, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah?”
“Sorry,” He whispered, his fingers still prying the nastiest sounds from your heat. “This is really hot.”
“You know, widows kill their mate after sex.” You manage to stutter out.
“Are you gonna kill me?” He asks, pressing harshly against your clit with another messy ooze of his webs.
“G-god no, I’m gonna cum.” You’re all but gasping as he pries an orgasm out of you
Your legs are shaking, chest heaving by the time you come to. He’s still sitting between your legs, boxers still on as he presses gentle kisses to your thigh.
You try to take him off guard by flipping him over onto his back, as gently as you could. He lands with a huff, and you pretend he didn’t see that coming. The view of you on top of him has him reeling, your tits bouncing as you tug briskly down at his boxers, pressing your lips to his.
“I can’t,” He pulls away from your lips reluctantly, “I can’t take the mask off.”
“I don’t care.” You sigh pressing your lips harshly against his again.
When he pulls away this time, a thread of spit connects your mouths. “I'm sorry, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you can’t see me-“
”I don’t care,” You echo, “I just wanna feel you.”
“The mask stays on.” He asks, once more to confirm.
“The mask stays on.” You agree, digging your nails into his shoulder blades as you reach down to guide his aching cock to your entrance. You slide down on him with a satisfying hiss, gasping at the stretch of him. His cock is so thick, you have to pace yourself before your hips meet his.
“God.” He seethes through his clenched jaw, his eyes rolling back into his head. You wished so badly to see the pathetic, fucked out look on his face. “You feel so good.”
“You’re huge.” You sigh contentedly, rocking your hips lazily against his as his tip presses gently into your sweet spot each time.
You ride him slowly, relishing the moans leaving his glossy lips. Or the way his abs tense every few seconds as you bounce and grind against him. It’s frantic, but intimate as you fall apart above him.
“You’re so beautiful.” He pants, watching your thighs shake as the thick curve of his cock pressed against the deepest parts of you.
“Spidey.” You moaned, your palms heavy on his chest as you tried to keep up your rhythm, failing when the pleasure overtook you.
“Right there, baby. Fuck.” The term of endearment leaves his mouth recklessly as he leans up, the soles of his feet hitting the ground as he fucks up into you. His hands are on your tired hips, picking you up and fucking yourself on his cock as if you weigh nothing. He hit every single spot inside of you, the bulge of him pressing deep against your stomach as you cried out for him.
“I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“
“I got you,” He cooed, “Cum for me, let me feel you.”
He felt every second of it, as you spasmed and came around him. It wasn’t too long before he followed behind you, letting your cunt milk him for every drop of his cum. It was warm, and thick. You’ve never felt this full before, it felt like he was coating your insides, claiming you as his.
“Spidey,” You mumbled, “That was…”
“I know…” He sighed dreamily, rubbing gentle circles into your hips from where he still lazily held you.
You pull off of him with a lewd pop, his release dribbling down your inner thighs.
“It’s so thick.” You stare in amazement, a finger gliding through the thickened cum.
He sits up quickly, head tilting in confusion. “That’s- it’s not webbing.”
“Definitely not normal.” You giggle like a schoolgirl,. “Don't worry. I’m into it. Majorly.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, watching each sway of your hips as you slide into one of the shower stalls. He just lays there, chest still heaving in disbelief that the past twenty minutes have even happened.
“You not gonna clean me up, Spidey?” You speak through the haze of the shower spray and a smirk falls on your face when you hear his feet frantically slapping against the wet concrete.
That’s how Yelena finds the two of you, your back pressed against the metal of the stall door. The water long gone cold as Spider-Man had your eyes shut in pleasure while he fucks up into you harshly, blubbering out pathetic moans of your name.
You’re still sensitive and so full from his last release by the time he slides into you again. He leaves no stone unturned as he urges you to come apart around him again, and again.
“Yes, yes,” He grunted, “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” You cried out, your legs locking around his ass to prevent him from stopping, as if he’d ever dream of it, “Please don’t stop. I’m right there, right fucking there.”
The metal stall was shaking with the ferocity of it, the sound of his hips slapping against yours drowned out by your cries.
“Are you gonna cum?” He panted, his fingers already rubbing at your swollen clit, “I need you to cum for me.”
“I’m gonna cum,” You nod, “Just keep going. Yeah, like that fuck. Fuck, Spidey I’m cumming.”
“M’behind you.” His hips stuttered as your cunt suckled him in and drank in every drop of thick cum he released deep inside of you.
“Fuck.” You laughed lazily, pressing your sweaty temple against his shoulder. He shuddered when he tried to pull out, his cum plopping out of you and clinging to his cock like glue. “Guess you gotta stay inside of me.”
“There’s worse places to be.” He laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to your head.
The blissful afterglow was interrupted by a loud throat clearing, Yelena’s voice carrying through the steam.
I watched Sterling Point three days ago and I’ve been obsessed with Ellis ever since. I already knew the actor from Premier Trio, so during my last insomnia I wrote this little thing about him.
All the characters in this story are 18 or above.
Please only read if you feel comfortable, love :)
And tell me if you want something about someone special! I’m open to TV shows, movies, sports (a lot), and anime. I can learn about someone I don’t know if you really want me to :)
I’m French and Italian, so the text has been corrected for better understanding, but it’s still fully mine.
Warnings :
Explicit language and content, MDNI, spicy and sweet.
—— —— —— ——
She hated Sterling Point at first.
Firenze was silk and marble and the smell of expensive coffee.
Here it was wood and water and silence that felt too loud.
No phone signal most of the day.
No shopping streets.
No useless pretty things to buy just because she could.
Her parents called it “character building.”
She called it torture.
Until the summer she turned eighteen.
Boat parties.
Cheap alcohol that still got the job done.
Hot boys who looked at her like she was the most interesting thing on the island.
And him.
Ellis.
He worked the marina with his father.
Flew the seaplane.
Fixed engines with hands that never seemed clean.
Didn’t smile at rich girls the way other boys did.
The first time she tried to flirt he barely looked up from the rope he was coiling.
“Money doesn’t impress me,” he said, voice low and calm.
“Kindness does. Respect does. You haven’t shown either yet.”
She should have been offended.
Instead something hot and curious settled low in her stomach.
⸻
The boat party was already loud when she stepped onto the deck.
Short black dress that barely covered anything.
Dark makeup.
Wild hair that the lake wind kept messing up.
Body that knew exactly how to move.
She was having fun.
Until one of the tourist boys got too close.
Too insistent.
Hand on her waist that didn’t ask permission.
Breath that smelled like too many beers.
She tried to laugh it off the Italian way — sharp, a little mean.
He didn’t listen.
Then a shadow moved between them.
Ellis.
He didn’t raise his voice.
Just looked at the guy like he was already bored of him.
“She’s not interested. Walk away.”
The boy opened his mouth.
Ellis stepped closer.
Not aggressive.
Just solid.
Certain.
“I said walk away.”
The boy left.
Ellis turned to her.
Eyes still unimpressed.
“You okay?”
She nodded, heart beating too fast for someone who had just been rescued by a boy who clearly still didn’t like her.
“Grazie,” she said softly, accent thicker than usual.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
He started to walk past her.
She caught his wrist.
“Stay. Just for a minute. Please.”
Something in her voice must have sounded different.
Less spoiled.
More real.
He stayed.
⸻
They ended up at the back of the boat where the music was quieter.
She sat on a cooler.
He leaned against the railing, arms crossed, still watching the party like he was on the clock.
“You work too hard,” she said.
“Someone has to.”
“I don’t.”
He looked at her then.
Really looked.
“I noticed.”
She expected judgment.
Instead he waited.
So she told him the truth.
About how money made everything too easy.
How she had never had to fight for anything.
How sometimes she wondered if people only smiled at her because of what her last name could buy.
Ellis listened like he actually cared about the answer.
When she finished he was quiet for a long moment.
Then—
“You’re not completely empty,” he said.
She laughed, surprised.
“Is that a compliment, tesoro?”
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Almost a smile.
“It’s a start.”
⸻
His shift ended later than it should have.
Most of the party had moved to the upper deck or the water.
She was still there.
Waiting.
He found her near the cabin table, the same short dress, the same dark eyes that had been watching him all night.
“I can show you how to work for something you want,” he said quietly.
She stepped closer.
“Show me then.”
⸻
He backed her against the table without rushing.
Hands on her waist.
Warm.
Rough from real work.
“You sure?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Si. I’m sure.”
He lifted her onto the table like she weighed nothing.
Pulled her forward by the ankles until her hips were at the edge.
The dress rode up.
He didn’t look away.
“You’re used to getting whatever you want just by asking nicely,” he murmured, fingers sliding up the inside of her thighs.
“Tonight you work for it.”
She swallowed.
“How?”
He leaned in, mouth close to her ear.
“Beg nicely. And mean it.”
Her voice came out softer than she planned.
“Please, Ellis…”
He smiled against her skin.
“Better. Keep going.”
She did.
While he pushed her underwear aside and slid two fingers into her slowly, watching her face the whole time.
“Cazzo—” she breathed.
He curled them just right.
“Language, princess.”
She laughed, breathless, then moaned when he pressed deeper.
He took his time.
Made her ask for every new thing.
When he finally pushed inside her it was slow and deep and controlled.
She clenched around him immediately.
He groaned low in his throat.
“Fuck… you feel even better than I thought.”
His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to leave marks.
He fucked her steady and deep, the table creaking under them, the distant music still thumping from the upper deck.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did.
His eyes were dark and soft at the same time.
“You don’t need to buy this,” he told her, thrusting harder.
“You just have to want it enough to ask.”
She was already close.
He noticed.
Slowed down on purpose.
She whimpered.
“Ellis— please—”
He smiled, almost sweet.
“There it is.”
Then he gave her what she needed.
Harder.
Deeper.
One hand on her hip, the other braced beside her head as he drove into her until she came with his name broken on her tongue.
He followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and breathing hard against her neck.
⸻
They stayed like that for a while.
Bodies sticky.
Breathing uneven.
Ellis rested his forehead against hers.
Still gentle even after everything.
She laughed softly, voice hoarse.
“Damn… money doesn’t make you happy.”
She trailed a finger down his abs, still catching her breath.
“But sex clearly does. No need for money when you’ve got that body, amore.”
He huffed a quiet laugh against her mouth.
Then kissed her properly for the first time.
Slow.
Sweet.
Like he was finally deciding she might be worth the trouble.
Outside, the party kept going.
Inside the cabin, for the first time all summer, Sterling Point felt exactly right.
summary: a late night walk after a stressful day on the island and end up by the dock… what happens when a wavy haired girl comes and joins you.
pairings: oona x reader
words: 1k (ish)
Your escape was always a walk.
Having a bad day? You would go on a walk.
Feeling down? Go on a walk.
Can’t sleep? Go on a walk.
Wake up early? You’re going on a walk.
Today was stressful for multiple reasons. A couple hours ago you were still in New York. But when you got a phone call from your best friend asking if you would go with her to an island that she now somehow inherited from her grandfather and now she has to find “her” whatever that means.
You also had to do the thing you hated most. Fly. You have heard too many stories about bad plane experiences and crashes and you never wanted to be on the end of one. It wasn’t that it scared you, no that was never the case. It was the endless possibilities that could happen and you can’t control or predict it. You always hated not being in control.
But when Annie called and said that she needed you with her, you decided that she meant more to you than a silly fear of possibilities.
All of the stress made it hard for you to fall asleep. That and the fact you were staying at a house that was filled with acorns.
Oh and let's not forget the fact that there is a random person, who is apparently Annie’s grandfather's granddaughter as well, sleeping on the floor above you.
You had been tossing and turning for at least an hour and all you could hear was the rustle of leaves in the trees outside and Annie’s light mumbles from whatever dream she was having.
You sit up from the area on the floor you insisted on taking. Saying that you’re “younger and less likely to wake up with a bad back” which caused Annie to sit down with a huff and roll her eyes.
You get up and walk over to the kitchen trying to find a note to tell Annie where you went in case she wakes up.
Finding a post-it sitting on the table you pick it up and grab the pen next to it writing “gone out for a walk, ill be back” knowing you can’t just message her due to the service, or lack of.
You walk to the door and grab your black converse. You don’t bother changing out of your shorts and t-shirt that you were sleeping-well planned on sleeping-in.
——————
You ended up at the dock. You had found a jet ski with the keys still in it and decided to take the opportunity.
You made sure to cover your tracks and pushed the jet ski out to the water slightly telling yourself that you can swim out to it if you need.
You explored the town because you didn’t get to do it earlier with Annie because your father had called and demanded to speak to you, which just ended up with you getting yelled at. After that miracle phone call considering the service barely worked on the island you went on your first walk that day, writing for Annie to come back.
You ended back up at the dock looking at the different boats. There was a bigger boat by the corner that still had a couple lights on. You guessed that somebody was still awake but didn’t think anything of it not knowing the time.
You sit down at the edge of the dock and look out at the water. The moon's reflection glistened on the water and the ripples on the water seemed to calm around it.
“Hello?” A curious voice made your eyes snap wide open and your head turned quickly to the left searching for the source of the voice.
Your eyes landed on a girl with curly hair , though it was tied up in a loose bun with pieces framing her face that was being illuminated by the moonlight.
“Hi” your voice is quieter than you meant it to be but you can tell she hears you when she begins to walk closer to you and sit down next to you.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of a stunning woman ending up right outside my home?” Her accent is music to your ears. You haven’t stopped staring at her since she sat down.
Fuck, she’s pretty.
You think to yourself.
“Uh I couldn’t sleep. Stressful day you know?” You say truthfully because for some reason you feel like you can trust her.
“Well I had a good day unlike you but I’ve had stressful days yeah.”
You can see she’s about to say something else so you stay silent.
“You got a name or am I going to have to go around calling you dock girl?“ She asks and you don’t know whether to play a game with her or to just straight up tell her.
You tell her your name and she nods and tests it on her tongue, repeating it under her breath.
You realise you still haven’t stopped looking at her so you slowly tur your head back out towards the moon.
“So, is there a reason why you’re out here alone at like three in the morning?”
she looks at you curiously and before you can think about it your mouth is moving.
“Well, like I said, stressful day, dad yelling, I had to go on a plane and the house I'm staying in is filled with a bunch of acorns for some reason.” you laugh at the end of your sentence making sure to leave out the fact that there’s a stranger sleeping in the same house as you.
“Oh, why was your dad yelling? If you don’t mind me asking.”
You weigh your options that you could reply back with and decide to just tell her the truth, you might never see her again anyway.
——————
By the time you both decide to get up the sun’s coming up.
“It was nice meeting you, and I'm sorry about your dad and everything.” She says softly, giving you a quick hug before saying, “You better bring that jet ski back to the owner before they wake up.”
It’s only by the time you get back to the house that you realise you never got her name…
authors note!!: i’m so sorry idk how to feel abt this it was lowkey rushed cuz i have to go to a birthday thing and dress up as i cowgirl and i wanted to finish this b4 that. this is also barely proof read and i lowkey hate this but im moving past it. anywho don’t forget if u have requests lmk!!
⋆˚࿔ I want to push you, love you, and ruin myself with you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
Summary: Trapped in a snowed in cabin in Virginia during a BAU case, you and Spencer are completely cut off. After almost a year of pretending nothing's going on at the office, the power goes out, it's pitch black, and the tension just takes over.
📢 Warning: +18, p in v, cum inside, fingering, oral sex (f rec), fluffy, too much yearning, pillow talk ⚠️🔞‼️…
Note: English isn't my first language and this is my first time writing, so sorry for any mistakes! Hope you like it!
The air in the cabin smelled like old wood, cold tea, and the heavy snow coming down outside. It was past three in the morning. Stuck in the middle of nowhere in the Virginia mountains, completely disconnected from the of the BAU, the comms in the SUV had been dead for hours. The only thing moving was the fire in the hearth.
You pulled your sweater tighter around yourself, sitting on the worn out couch. Across the table, Spencer was flipping through some old book way too fast. He only did that when he was trying to block out the one person he couldn't just analyze and ignore.
You two had been doing this weird dance for almost a year. At Quantico, it was all professional super polite, quick handoffs of case files, total team-player vibes. But outside of that, the air between you was suffocating. Spencer lived in numbers and logic, but you were the one variable he couldn't figure out.
"You should sleep," he said suddenly, not looking up. His voice was deep, low from staying up all night.
"Same to you, Agent Reid," you murmured, resting your chin in your hand.
A heavy silence fell over the room. Spencer closed the book slowly and set his teacup aside. When he reached across the table, his fingers brushed against yours.
It was just a split second, but Spencer froze. His breath hitched, and you could see his pulse racing in his neck. You stopped breathing too. Neither of you pulled away.
"The room is twelve degrees Celsius," he blurted out, hiding behind facts like he always did. "Mild hypothermia messes with your circulation, and being awake for thirty hours straight impairs your brain's ability to regulate emotion..."
"Spencer," you cut in softly, sliding your hand over his.
He stopped mid sentence and looked up. His eyes were dark, filled with a look so intense it was almost painful.
Right then, a spark popped in the fireplace, and the only light in the room went out. The cabin plunged into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the embers.
Spencer stood up. He walked around the table until he was standing right over you. He completely towered over you, his heat hitting you before he even touched you.
He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he cupped the back of your neck, his fingers burying into your hair.
"You have no idea," he whispered, leaning in so close his breath brushed your lips. "You don't know what this year has been like. Walking into work every day, forcing myself not to look at you... knowing I'm going insane because all I want is to push you, love you, and ruin myself with you."
"Spencer..." you barely managed to say.
That was all it took. He closed the gap and kissed you, hard.
It was messy and desperate. He held your face in his hands like he couldn't get close enough. He grabbed your waist, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the couch and sending the cushions hitting the floor.
Your legs parted instinctively and he stepped right between them, pressing his hips against yours. A gasp escaped you at the sudden pressure. Spencer caught the sound in his mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue taking over completely.
His hands slid under your sweater, his warm palms hitting the bare skin of your back. You arched into him as he let out a low growl, his grip tightening on your hips, pulling you flush against him until you could feel exactly how hard he was through his pants.
He dragged his mouth down your jaw, biting softly at your neck. You held onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt, messing up his hair.
"Tell me this is real," he breathed against your skin, pulling your sweater down to expose your shoulders. "Tell me when we go back, you're not going to act like we're just coworkers."
"It's real," you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist. "It's always been you."
Spencer pulled your sweater all the way off and tossed it to the floor. His gaze went dark as he looked at you in the dim light. His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples until a sharp sound was pulled from your throat.
He leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his tongue swirled against your skin. You threw your head back, hands clutching his back as the heat sent a shiver straight through you.
His hand slid down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants. He pulled the zipper down and slipped his hand inside your underwear, finding you already completely wet. He let out a low curse against your skin.
"You're so wet for me..." he muttered, his voice wrecked, pushing a finger deep inside you.
You gasped as he started moving, his thumb pressing right against your clit. He added a second finger, working a deep, steady rhythm that had your legs trembling around his hips.
You reached for his belt, undoing it with shaky hands. You pulled him free—hard and pulsing against your touch. Spencer groaned into your neck as you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him up and down.
"Don't do that if you want me to take my time," he warned, his breath ragged as he shoved your pants down past your knees.
He positioned himself right at your entrance, rubbing his tip against you, teasing you until you were practically begging.
"Spencer, please..." you choked out.
He pushed in slow, heavy, and deep, filling you completely in one stroke.
The feeling made you gasp, a sound he caught with another kiss. He stayed still inside you for a second, eyes closed, just taking in the feeling of being wrapped around you.
"God... you feel so good," he whispered, his voice uneven as he started to move.
He started slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in deep, making the couch creak under his weight. But the control didn't last. Months of built-up frustration took over, and his pace turned fast, hard, and relentless.
He hit the exact same spot over and over. Your thighs shook against his waist while he held you pinned, getting deeper with every thrust.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dark.
You looked up, completely dazed, seeing pure obsession in his eyes. He picked up the speed, hitting you so hard your back arched off the sofa. His thumb found your clit again, pressing down right as he drove in deep.
That was it. You locked up around him, an intense wave of pleasure crashing through you as a loud groan tore from your throat.
Feeling you clench around him broke whatever control he had left. He gave three final, brutal thrusts before letting out a rough sound, completely losing it as he came deep inside you.
He collapsed over you, heavy and breathing hard, his chest heaving against yours. The only sound in the room was your heavy breathing and the dying fire.
Neither of you moved for a while. His face was buried in your neck, his lips resting against your collarbone.
"This violates like seven different BAU protocols," he muttered into your skin, his voice raspy.
A weak laugh escaped you. "Are you really thinking about work right now?"
Spencer lifted his head. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes, and he was looking down at you with this raw vulnerability.
"No," he admitted, a tiny smirk touching his lips. "Honestly, I'm just trying to process the fact that I was completely wrong about us. I thought if I said anything, it would ruin the team. I thought you'd pull away."
"You're a genius, Reid, but you're an idiot," you whispered, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. "I've been waiting for months."
He closed his eyes for a second, leaning into your touch. "It wasn't that. I was just scared," he said, dead serious now. "I see the worst stuff every day. Everything is so fragile. Having you around... it was the only thing keeping me grounded. I couldn't risk losing that."
"You're not losing me," you said, pulling him back down. "But we have to go back tomorrow. What happens when we're back at the office?"
Spencer kissed you soft and slow this time. "Hotch knows," he murmured against your lips.
"Wait, what?" You blinked, suddenly wide awake. "He knows?"
"We're terrible at hiding it," he admitted, kissing down your jaw. "He basically told me to handle my personal life so I'd stop being distracted."
You buried your face in his shoulder, groaning in embarrassment while Spencer let out a quiet laugh.
"Don't worry about tomorrow," he whispered, grabbing your chin to make you look at him again. "We're stuck here, the roads are blocked, and we still have a few hours before the sun comes up."
"And what are we doing with those hours, Dr. Reid?"
Spencer smirked, his hands gripping your hips again as he stirred inside you.
"I have a few more ideas."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You let out a soft groan as you felt him grow hard inside you again. He smirked against your lips, his hips starting a slow, torturous roll that had you melting right back into him.
"Statistically," Spencer murmured, his voice dropping low, "it's way better if we don't stop now."
"You talk too much, Reid," you gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders as he lifted your hips to get deeper.
"And yet you love it," he whispered back, surprisingly confident, his eyes locked onto yours.
Before going any faster, Spencer pulled out slowly, making you whine at the sudden cold. But he didn't leave you waiting. He slid down your body until he was kneeling between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling you right to the edge of the couch.
"Spencer... what are you doing?" you breathed out.
"Making sure you can't focus during tomorrow's briefing," he muttered.
He leaned down and buried his face between your legs. The second his tongue hit your clit, you gasped, your fingers immediately flying to his hair. He didn't rush. He took his time, licking you with long, slow strokes, tasting you until you were squirming under him.
His grip on your thighs tightened as his tongue worked over you with terrifying precision. He swirled right over your spot before sucking gently, pulling high, broken sounds out of you. You tangled your hands in his hair, completely helpless.
"Spencer, please..." you begged, arching into his mouth.
He growled against your skin and pushed two fingers deep inside you while keeping his mouth right on your clit. The double sensation sent you over the edge almost instantly. His mouth moved faster, messier, eating you out until your whole body went rigid and you came hard right against his face.
Spencer licked you clean before pulling back up. His lips were slick, his eyes dark as he looked down at you.
Without waiting another second, he lined himself up and drove all the way back in with one hard thrust, making you cry out as he locked into a fast, relentless pace that carried you both straight over the edge again.
⋆˚࿔ I want to push you, love you, and ruin myself with you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
Summary: Trapped in a snowed in cabin in Virginia during a BAU case, you and Spencer are completely cut off. After almost a year of pretending nothing's going on at the office, the power goes out, it's pitch black, and the tension just takes over.
📢 Warning: +18, p in v, cum inside, fingering, oral sex (f rec), fluffy, too much yearning, pillow talk ⚠️🔞‼️…
Note: English isn't my first language and this is my first time writing, so sorry for any mistakes! Hope you like it!
The air in the cabin smelled like old wood, cold tea, and the heavy snow coming down outside. It was past three in the morning. Stuck in the middle of nowhere in the Virginia mountains, completely disconnected from the of the BAU, the comms in the SUV had been dead for hours. The only thing moving was the fire in the hearth.
You pulled your sweater tighter around yourself, sitting on the worn out couch. Across the table, Spencer was flipping through some old book way too fast. He only did that when he was trying to block out the one person he couldn't just analyze and ignore.
You two had been doing this weird dance for almost a year. At Quantico, it was all professional super polite, quick handoffs of case files, total team-player vibes. But outside of that, the air between you was suffocating. Spencer lived in numbers and logic, but you were the one variable he couldn't figure out.
"You should sleep," he said suddenly, not looking up. His voice was deep, low from staying up all night.
"Same to you, Agent Reid," you murmured, resting your chin in your hand.
A heavy silence fell over the room. Spencer closed the book slowly and set his teacup aside. When he reached across the table, his fingers brushed against yours.
It was just a split second, but Spencer froze. His breath hitched, and you could see his pulse racing in his neck. You stopped breathing too. Neither of you pulled away.
"The room is twelve degrees Celsius," he blurted out, hiding behind facts like he always did. "Mild hypothermia messes with your circulation, and being awake for thirty hours straight impairs your brain's ability to regulate emotion..."
"Spencer," you cut in softly, sliding your hand over his.
He stopped mid sentence and looked up. His eyes were dark, filled with a look so intense it was almost painful.
Right then, a spark popped in the fireplace, and the only light in the room went out. The cabin plunged into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the embers.
Spencer stood up. He walked around the table until he was standing right over you. He completely towered over you, his heat hitting you before he even touched you.
He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he cupped the back of your neck, his fingers burying into your hair.
"You have no idea," he whispered, leaning in so close his breath brushed your lips. "You don't know what this year has been like. Walking into work every day, forcing myself not to look at you... knowing I'm going insane because all I want is to push you, love you, and ruin myself with you."
"Spencer..." you barely managed to say.
That was all it took. He closed the gap and kissed you, hard.
It was messy and desperate. He held your face in his hands like he couldn't get close enough. He grabbed your waist, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the couch and sending the cushions hitting the floor.
Your legs parted instinctively and he stepped right between them, pressing his hips against yours. A gasp escaped you at the sudden pressure. Spencer caught the sound in his mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue taking over completely.
His hands slid under your sweater, his warm palms hitting the bare skin of your back. You arched into him as he let out a low growl, his grip tightening on your hips, pulling you flush against him until you could feel exactly how hard he was through his pants.
He dragged his mouth down your jaw, biting softly at your neck. You held onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt, messing up his hair.
"Tell me this is real," he breathed against your skin, pulling your sweater down to expose your shoulders. "Tell me when we go back, you're not going to act like we're just coworkers."
"It's real," you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist. "It's always been you."
Spencer pulled your sweater all the way off and tossed it to the floor. His gaze went dark as he looked at you in the dim light. His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples until a sharp sound was pulled from your throat.
He leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his tongue swirled against your skin. You threw your head back, hands clutching his back as the heat sent a shiver straight through you.
His hand slid down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants. He pulled the zipper down and slipped his hand inside your underwear, finding you already completely wet. He let out a low curse against your skin.
"You're so wet for me..." he muttered, his voice wrecked, pushing a finger deep inside you.
You gasped as he started moving, his thumb pressing right against your clit. He added a second finger, working a deep, steady rhythm that had your legs trembling around his hips.
You reached for his belt, undoing it with shaky hands. You pulled him free—hard and pulsing against your touch. Spencer groaned into your neck as you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him up and down.
"Don't do that if you want me to take my time," he warned, his breath ragged as he shoved your pants down past your knees.
He positioned himself right at your entrance, rubbing his tip against you, teasing you until you were practically begging.
"Spencer, please..." you choked out.
He pushed in slow, heavy, and deep, filling you completely in one stroke.
The feeling made you gasp, a sound he caught with another kiss. He stayed still inside you for a second, eyes closed, just taking in the feeling of being wrapped around you.
"God... you feel so good," he whispered, his voice uneven as he started to move.
He started slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in deep, making the couch creak under his weight. But the control didn't last. Months of built-up frustration took over, and his pace turned fast, hard, and relentless.
He hit the exact same spot over and over. Your thighs shook against his waist while he held you pinned, getting deeper with every thrust.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dark.
You looked up, completely dazed, seeing pure obsession in his eyes. He picked up the speed, hitting you so hard your back arched off the sofa. His thumb found your clit again, pressing down right as he drove in deep.
That was it. You locked up around him, an intense wave of pleasure crashing through you as a loud groan tore from your throat.
Feeling you clench around him broke whatever control he had left. He gave three final, brutal thrusts before letting out a rough sound, completely losing it as he came deep inside you.
He collapsed over you, heavy and breathing hard, his chest heaving against yours. The only sound in the room was your heavy breathing and the dying fire.
Neither of you moved for a while. His face was buried in your neck, his lips resting against your collarbone.
"This violates like seven different BAU protocols," he muttered into your skin, his voice raspy.
A weak laugh escaped you. "Are you really thinking about work right now?"
Spencer lifted his head. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes, and he was looking down at you with this raw vulnerability.
"No," he admitted, a tiny smirk touching his lips. "Honestly, I'm just trying to process the fact that I was completely wrong about us. I thought if I said anything, it would ruin the team. I thought you'd pull away."
"You're a genius, Reid, but you're an idiot," you whispered, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. "I've been waiting for months."
He closed his eyes for a second, leaning into your touch. "It wasn't that. I was just scared," he said, dead serious now. "I see the worst stuff every day. Everything is so fragile. Having you around... it was the only thing keeping me grounded. I couldn't risk losing that."
"You're not losing me," you said, pulling him back down. "But we have to go back tomorrow. What happens when we're back at the office?"
Spencer kissed you soft and slow this time. "Hotch knows," he murmured against your lips.
"Wait, what?" You blinked, suddenly wide awake. "He knows?"
"We're terrible at hiding it," he admitted, kissing down your jaw. "He basically told me to handle my personal life so I'd stop being distracted."
You buried your face in his shoulder, groaning in embarrassment while Spencer let out a quiet laugh.
"Don't worry about tomorrow," he whispered, grabbing your chin to make you look at him again. "We're stuck here, the roads are blocked, and we still have a few hours before the sun comes up."
"And what are we doing with those hours, Dr. Reid?"
Spencer smirked, his hands gripping your hips again as he stirred inside you.
"I have a few more ideas."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You let out a soft groan as you felt him grow hard inside you again. He smirked against your lips, his hips starting a slow, torturous roll that had you melting right back into him.
"Statistically," Spencer murmured, his voice dropping low, "it's way better if we don't stop now."
"You talk too much, Reid," you gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders as he lifted your hips to get deeper.
"And yet you love it," he whispered back, surprisingly confident, his eyes locked onto yours.
Before going any faster, Spencer pulled out slowly, making you whine at the sudden cold. But he didn't leave you waiting. He slid down your body until he was kneeling between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling you right to the edge of the couch.
"Spencer... what are you doing?" you breathed out.
"Making sure you can't focus during tomorrow's briefing," he muttered.
He leaned down and buried his face between your legs. The second his tongue hit your clit, you gasped, your fingers immediately flying to his hair. He didn't rush. He took his time, licking you with long, slow strokes, tasting you until you were squirming under him.
His grip on your thighs tightened as his tongue worked over you with terrifying precision. He swirled right over your spot before sucking gently, pulling high, broken sounds out of you. You tangled your hands in his hair, completely helpless.
"Spencer, please..." you begged, arching into his mouth.
He growled against your skin and pushed two fingers deep inside you while keeping his mouth right on your clit. The double sensation sent you over the edge almost instantly. His mouth moved faster, messier, eating you out until your whole body went rigid and you came hard right against his face.
Spencer licked you clean before pulling back up. His lips were slick, his eyes dark as he looked down at you.
Without waiting another second, he lined himself up and drove all the way back in with one hard thrust, making you cry out as he locked into a fast, relentless pace that carried you both straight over the edge again.
summary: you have to leave town, and ellis thinks it’s better off if to end things, but it doesn’t go according to plan when he notices how much your sadness affects him.
warnings: angst, mention of y/n i’m SO obsessed with this show and my last name is sterling so that doesn’t help my case either lmaoo ENJOYY!
flying across multiple states on your own was never a good plan, everybody knew it.
that’s why you made one promise to yourself, no attachments.
don’t get attached, no matter what.
so far, it was good! you met some people, even a old childhood friend. canada was enjoyable, but not anything special, so keeping that promise didn’t seem that much of an issue.
that was until you met ellis.
at first, you thought of him as a regular, immature teenage boy, though everytime yall crossed paths he just kept proving you wrong.
like that one time he took your boxes across town without conformation, or the other time when he helped you set up a party for your sister.
something was different about him.
the first kiss you shared was even more special, gentle even, like if he leaned any harder you would break.
so when your dad came back onto the island and broke the news, obviously you were devastated!
the day moved ridiculously slow, the type were everything progressively piles, you’d think a independent teenage girl like you would be able to handle it.
but right now you couldn’t, and ellis saw it almost immediately.

the frown between your brows when you scrubbed the dishes, or the way you bit your lip when trying to concentrate.
“y/n..” he whispered softly, “can we talk?”
turning your head over you shoulder, you peeked over at him, ignoring the seriousness in his tone as you continued to scrub the plate before you. “yeah what’s up.”
“uh, look at me— please.” ellis urged, when you turned around, he stood right infront of you.
the look on his face? kinda shook you a bit.
“ellis?” you questioned, his eyes boring right into yours.
ellis fought with himself, he felt so cruel for doing this to you when you looked so stressed.. let alone the fact you were leaving tomorrow.
“i think we should..” he stalled— “i think we need to.” the brunette corrected.
“take a break, with whatever this is.” he finally uttered out, studying your expression.
and it wasn’t what he expected.
you looked absolutely wrecked.
“what?” you asked, tone just above a whisper as you leaned against the counter behind you.. glancing up at him with wide eyes.
you didn’t know what that meant fully, because you and ellis never had a label.
you’ve both kissed eachother before, shared hugs at night, especially when he took you home drunk.. multiple times.
but it wasn’t enough for him to call you girlfriend.
“ellis— ellis no.” you stuttered, silence weighed heavy, it was hard to hate him whenever he stared down at you like that.
“you don’t, you don’t know what your doing..” you confirmed, almost like you where trying to convince yourself that and not him.
“y/n..” ellis spoke softly, eyes fluttering with guilt, he couldn’t take seeing you like this, as soon as he saw those tears prick your eyes it was game over.
“i’m sorry.” he swallowed.
your expression crumbled, before you could even gain control of your cries you looked down— avoiding eye contact.
swallowing hard, you met his eyes again, trying to desperately keep yourself together.
vulnerability wasn’t something to play around with, you knew that— so crying infront of him so easily was clear he had a terrible effect on you.
“why are you doing this, what— was this just a stupid summer fling to you?” you exclaimed, tone angry this time.
“no, no not at all.” ellis panicked, shaking his head.. because it wasn’t just a fling to him, though right now you couldn’t tell.
“then why.” you stated, eyes glossy.
“you’re leaving— and i just can’t do this.” he forced, mentally facepalming, what type of response was that?
“wow.” you chuckled sarcastically, shaking your head in disbelief. “what a lame excuse.”
“that’s it? because i’m leaving.” you asked again.
“yes.” ellis choked out.
“atleast come up with something better than that— because that makes no fucking sense.” you spat, “i can’t control it, but you know what you can control?”
“this stupid— situationship you trapped me in.” you shrugged.
ellis stood, eyes softening at your words, stupid?
but oh he was wrong.
with a scoff, you spoke again. “this is why i can’t do no labels— because..” you paused for a moment, “i love you ellis.”
he froze, his heart racing— this is not how he expected it to go.
“you.. love me?” he asked softly, one thing about him, he listened way to perfectly.
“yes!” you cried out, sniffling— “nobody ever treated me the way you do.”
a tear slipped down your cheek, though you quickly wiped it with the back of your hand.
“i was thinking about staying, after i was done with dishes i was gonna call my dad..” you explained, “and i-“ you started again, but before you could finish..
ellis pressed his lips against yours, sudden— but real.
it’s was almost natural the way you melted into the kiss, your not sure why you’d even accept it after he just made you rant like that.
but the way he listened so closely, like the more you spoke the more he felt absolutely horrible.
his hand came up to cup your cheek, again— like you were delicate.
it lingered for a moment, until he pulled back slightly, catching your teary eyes.
“i love you.” he whispered, regretting everything he said before— ellis knew he was confused at first, but now he knew.
he was in love with you.
@gracespeaks: i LOVE this sooo much, more ellis fics in the future?? :)
summary: you’re having a rough night with your family and need a break, so you leave the house and end up at ellis’ place. he doesn’t ask too many questions, he just lets you stay and makes sure you know you don’t have to be alone.
pairings: ellis x fem!reader
a/n: hello guys… i know i always disappear and IM SORRYYYYY but im currently so obsessed with this show! i loved itt and where the fuck are the fics????? so here i am making one i might also make one for ramona because i love her. ramona and ellis might be my favs… UHH ok i hope you guys enjoy my ass writing and don’t forget to send requests!!! omg school starting for me again.. fml.
you hadn’t really planned on going anywhere but you just knew you couldn’t stay in your house anymore. everything your family did was just making out mad and they just judged you for everything and never helped you.
the argument had started over something stupid, like most arguments with your family did. it was always something small that somehow turned into something bigger, and before you knew it, you were standing in your room with your eyes burning and your chest feeling tight.
you grabbed your hoodie and left before anyone could stop you and didn’t even think about where you were going until you were already halfway there.
ellis.
for some reason, whenever you were having a bad day, he was the first person you thought about. you didn’t even know if he was home, or if he’d even want you showing up this late, but you still kept walking.
and by the time you got to his house, you were already regretting it. You stood on his porch for a few seconds, staring at the door.
“fuck.” you almost turned around because you suddenly thought this was a bad idea.. what if he’s not up?
then the door opened.
and the second ellis opened the door and saw you standing there, he knew something was wrong. you were trying so hard to keep your face straight, but your eyes were already red and there were still tears sitting on your cheeks. you looked away from him quickly, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie like you could somehow pretend he hadn’t noticed.
“hey,” he said quietly.
you looked down, wiping your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie. “hi.”
ellis didn’t ask what happened. he’d known you long enough to know that if you wanted to talk about it, you would. instead, he stepped aside and opened the door wider for you.
“come in.”
you walked past him, keeping your head down as he shut the door behind you. for a second, neither of you said anything. you stood there awkwardly in the middle of his living room, suddenly wondering if coming here had been a stupid idea.
ellis looked at you again before walking over and gently taking your hand. “come on,” he said softly. “sit down.”
he led you over to the couch and sat beside you, leaving enough space for you to move closer if you wanted to. you stared down at your hands, trying to keep yourself together, but the second you felt his hand rest against your back, your eyes started filling up again.
“hey,” he murmured, holding your hand. “it’s okay.”
you shook your head, trying to laugh it off even though your voice came out shaky. “i’m sorry. i don’t even know why i’m here.”
“you don’t have to be sorry.”
that makes you look at him
“you can come here whenever you want.” he says it in the most soft voice ever.
that was enough to make another tear fall, and you quickly wiped it away. ellis didn’t say anything about it. he just stayed beside you, his hand still resting in yours like he wasn’t going anywhere.
after a few quiet seconds, you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. he shifted slightly so you could get comfortable, then looked down at you.
“you wanna tell me what happened?”
you were quiet for a moment, staring down at your hands before finally letting out a shaky breath. “it’s just my family. we got into this huge argument and i know it’s probably stupid, but i just—i don’t know. i feel like everything is my fault. maybe if i had just kept my mouth shut, none of it would’ve happened and i wouldn’t have made everything worse.”
ellis frowned slightly, watching you as you kept talking before you could even give yourself a second to breathe.
“and i know i shouldn’t have left, because now they’re probably even more pissed at me, and i should’ve just stayed there and dealt with it. i always do this, i make everything worse and then i run away when things get hard and—”
“hey.”
you stopped.
ellis was looking at you, his expression soft but serious. “it’s not your fault.”
you opened your mouth, but he shook his head before you could argue with him.
“no. don’t do that,” he said quietly. “don’t sit here and blame yourself for everything just because you’re upset.”
you looked away, blinking quickly as your eyes started filling with tears again. “but i could’ve handled it better.”
“maybe,” he said, not trying to completely dismiss what you were saying. “but that doesn’t mean you deserved to feel like this.”
you stayed quiet, rubbing your sleeve between your fingers.
“you needed a break,” he continued. “so you took one. that’s all.”
“i just hate that i can’t fix anything.” you said looking away from him you just couldn’t look.
“you don’t have to fix it tonight.”
but that made you look up at him again..
ellis gave you a small shrug, his hand moving back to your arm. “you came here because you needed somewhere to go. so stay.”
your lip trembled slightly, and you quickly looked down again. “i’m sorry,” you whispered.
“for what?”
“for showing up like this.”
he almost looked confused by that. “you don’t have to apologize for coming to me.”
that finally broke whatever little bit of composure you had left. you covered your face with your hands, letting out a quiet, shaky breath as the tears started falling again.
ellis didn’t say anything for a moment. but seeing you cry?? he didn’t hesitate and pulled you into his arms immediately. you moved closer, letting him pull you into his chest as his arms wrapped around you.
you buried your face against his shoulder, gripping the back of his hoodie while he held you tightly.
ellis rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, one hand moving slowly up and down your back.
you stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing. slowly, the tight feeling in your chest started to fade, and you finally pulled back just enough to look at him.
ellis looked down at you, his hand still resting against your back. neither of you said anything for a moment. you were still close, and you could feel his eyes moving over your face like he was making sure you were actually okay.
“you okay?” he asked quietly.
you nodded. “yeah. a little.”
he smiled softly. “good.”
neither of you moved. you looked down for a second, suddenly nervous about how close you still were. when you looked back up, ellis was already looking at you.
“what?” you asked quietly.
“nothing.”
you gave him a small smile. “you’re staring.”
“i know.”
you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “you’re weird.”
“yeah, probably.” there was another quiet moment, but this one felt different. ellis looked at you for another second before his eyes dropped to your lips. he hesitated, almost like he was giving you the chance to move away.
you didn’t.
instead, he leaned closer and kissed you.. the kiss was soft and quick because he wanted to make sure you wanted this and he didn’t just make a mistake. “sorry,” he murmured. “i just—”
you shook your head, cutting him off. “don’t be.”
he smiled a little. you looked at him for another second before quietly saying, “do that again.”
ellis didn’t need to be told twice. he leaned in and kissed you again, and this time you smiled against him, your hand lightly gripping the sleeve of his hoodie.
you shift your weight on top of him, and he seems to go still for half a second like he’s trying to catch up with how close you are. then his arms tighten on your waist without letting it break. his mouth deepens against yours, slow and warm, like he’s savoring every second he gets.
you rock gently, and he makes a soft sound right into the kiss, breathing unevenly as his hand slides to your thigh and holds you there. when you pause, even for a moment, he doesn’t let the moment pass he cups your face with his other hand and presses closer, forehead brushing yours as he kisses you again, longer this time.
and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel like you needed to go anywhere.
OKAY WE AINT GETTING TOO FREAKY NOW- that was so hard to write because i don’t go that far i just do a kiss and call it a day.. lmao. to all my smut writers… ur amazing idk how you do it. KEEP IT UPPPP! but anyways how did you guys like this?? guys be honest is it good because i always don’t like my writing. so let me know.. I HOPE U GUYS ENJOYEDDD AND U CAN SEND MORE REQUESTS FOR STERLING POINT (i do others to not just ellis but promise ramona fic coming soon) BYEE!!!!
bf!peter who truly does feel bad when he leaves you sore and achey . . . but who also can't help but get so, so turned on by it!
it's like fighting against himself, because peter absolutely loathes the idea of ever causing you pain—and the almost sick surge of satisfaction he feels when he catches you wincing and massaging your inner thighs the next day and the subsequent chubby he usually pops from it makes him want to recoil. (or at least, makes him feel like he should want to recoil.)
but he just can't help it. there's just something about it—something about knowing that he had fucked you so deep and thoroughly that your body literally aches from it—that drives him up the wall. makes him feel almost animalistic. feral.
and there's something equally as mind-spiraling about making it up to you. about using his hands and mouth and tongue to soothe the aches he caused, to pull the soft sounds of relief and pleasure from your pretty lips.
maybe that's the best part, when he's got you like this—achey thighs split open by his shoulders, trembling softly, clit so puffy and pretty under his tongue, and your gummy walls massaging and drooling around his fingers as he steadily (and gently, of course) fingerfucks you to an orgasm.
and, fuck, he's so sick for the way his cock twitches when you wince or sigh out in pain despite him being so gentle with you—but, to his pleasure, you aren't running.
no, you're pushing back into him, softly humping your cunt against his tongue, clenching around his fingers and suckling them like you can't get enough.
"feel's'good, peter," you mewl, slurred, whiny, pussy constricting when he presses his pads into the sweet spot at the top. "mmm—ah, fuck—please—a-ah, wait, careful—hurts a little—"
your body seems to be contradicting itself, tensing up when he strokes a particularly sore spot but yet releasing the most delicious sounds of pleasure, with whines for him to slow down peppered in between cries for more.
"i know, baby, i know. i know she's sore." he cuts off your next whimper softly, massaging gentle circles into your thigh with his free hand, fingers still sinking knuckle deep inside you rhythmically. "'m gonna go slow, okay? fuck, i'll make it up t'you... 'm'gonna make this pretty pussy feel better, hmm? y'want that?"
"yes, yes, please," you rush out on a breath, one that catches on a small whine and a jerk of your hips when his shoulder rubs against the sensitive flesh of your thigh. "wan-wanna feel better, pete, please—"
fuck, he's hard enough to cut steel right now. his boxers are tight and sticky, pools of pre spilling from his swollen tip. he aches so badly to simply bury himself inside your sweet cunt, replace his thick fingers with something even thicker and longer—but he knows he has to wait.
there's no way your poor, achy pussy could handle his cock right now. that would be far too much. she needs his tongue and fingers to bring her to orgasm first.
"fuck—a-ah—peter, i-i think 'm gonna cum."
oh, speak of the devil. peter suppresses a small smirk and starts to pump his fingers just a little harder—not faster, not higher, just harder. he flicks his tongue over your clit in tandem, and fuck, now your pussy is clenching so tight. your chest heaves and your moans are loud enough to shake the walls.
"that's it, pretty baby," peter murmurs, breath hot and fanning over your slopped up pussy. "c'mon, let it go. mmhmm, jus' like that. let go f'me, cum on my fingers—oh, yes, that's a goooood girl—"
peter can't really tell if the whine that escapes your throat is one of pain or pleasure; maybe it's a bit of both. but what he can tell is that you are coming on his fingers, slick gushing and clit pulsing, so swollen and cute and sensitive when he sucks on it gently.
and now that you have cum, maybe you'd be willing to let him make you just a little more sore...
note. so acc idk entirely how i feel abt this one bcs i'm expirementing a lil with a more dominant peter, so pls lmk how you guys feel about it or if i did a decent job of it or if u like it yeah u get it lol. anyway luv yas xoxo!! ♡
summary: you’re having a rough night with your family and need a break, so you leave the house and end up at ellis’ place. he doesn’t ask too many questions, he just lets you stay and makes sure you know you don’t have to be alone.
pairings: ellis x fem!reader
a/n: hello guys… i know i always disappear and IM SORRYYYYY but im currently so obsessed with this show! i loved itt and where the fuck are the fics????? so here i am making one i might also make one for ramona because i love her. ramona and ellis might be my favs… UHH ok i hope you guys enjoy my ass writing and don’t forget to send requests!!! omg school starting for me again.. fml.
you hadn’t really planned on going anywhere but you just knew you couldn’t stay in your house anymore. everything your family did was just making out mad and they just judged you for everything and never helped you.
the argument had started over something stupid, like most arguments with your family did. it was always something small that somehow turned into something bigger, and before you knew it, you were standing in your room with your eyes burning and your chest feeling tight.
you grabbed your hoodie and left before anyone could stop you and didn’t even think about where you were going until you were already halfway there.
ellis.
for some reason, whenever you were having a bad day, he was the first person you thought about. you didn’t even know if he was home, or if he’d even want you showing up this late, but you still kept walking.
and by the time you got to his house, you were already regretting it. You stood on his porch for a few seconds, staring at the door.
“fuck.” you almost turned around because you suddenly thought this was a bad idea.. what if he’s not up?
then the door opened.
and the second ellis opened the door and saw you standing there, he knew something was wrong. you were trying so hard to keep your face straight, but your eyes were already red and there were still tears sitting on your cheeks. you looked away from him quickly, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie like you could somehow pretend he hadn’t noticed.
“hey,” he said quietly.
you looked down, wiping your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie. “hi.”
ellis didn’t ask what happened. he’d known you long enough to know that if you wanted to talk about it, you would. instead, he stepped aside and opened the door wider for you.
“come in.”
you walked past him, keeping your head down as he shut the door behind you. for a second, neither of you said anything. you stood there awkwardly in the middle of his living room, suddenly wondering if coming here had been a stupid idea.
ellis looked at you again before walking over and gently taking your hand. “come on,” he said softly. “sit down.”
he led you over to the couch and sat beside you, leaving enough space for you to move closer if you wanted to. you stared down at your hands, trying to keep yourself together, but the second you felt his hand rest against your back, your eyes started filling up again.
“hey,” he murmured, holding your hand. “it’s okay.”
you shook your head, trying to laugh it off even though your voice came out shaky. “i’m sorry. i don’t even know why i’m here.”
“you don’t have to be sorry.”
that makes you look at him
“you can come here whenever you want.” he says it in the most soft voice ever.
that was enough to make another tear fall, and you quickly wiped it away. ellis didn’t say anything about it. he just stayed beside you, his hand still resting in yours like he wasn’t going anywhere.
after a few quiet seconds, you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. he shifted slightly so you could get comfortable, then looked down at you.
“you wanna tell me what happened?”
you were quiet for a moment, staring down at your hands before finally letting out a shaky breath. “it’s just my family. we got into this huge argument and i know it’s probably stupid, but i just—i don’t know. i feel like everything is my fault. maybe if i had just kept my mouth shut, none of it would’ve happened and i wouldn’t have made everything worse.”
ellis frowned slightly, watching you as you kept talking before you could even give yourself a second to breathe.
“and i know i shouldn’t have left, because now they’re probably even more pissed at me, and i should’ve just stayed there and dealt with it. i always do this, i make everything worse and then i run away when things get hard and—”
“hey.”
you stopped.
ellis was looking at you, his expression soft but serious. “it’s not your fault.”
you opened your mouth, but he shook his head before you could argue with him.
“no. don’t do that,” he said quietly. “don’t sit here and blame yourself for everything just because you’re upset.”
you looked away, blinking quickly as your eyes started filling with tears again. “but i could’ve handled it better.”
“maybe,” he said, not trying to completely dismiss what you were saying. “but that doesn’t mean you deserved to feel like this.”
you stayed quiet, rubbing your sleeve between your fingers.
“you needed a break,” he continued. “so you took one. that’s all.”
“i just hate that i can’t fix anything.” you said looking away from him you just couldn’t look.
“you don’t have to fix it tonight.”
but that made you look up at him again..
ellis gave you a small shrug, his hand moving back to your arm. “you came here because you needed somewhere to go. so stay.”
your lip trembled slightly, and you quickly looked down again. “i’m sorry,” you whispered.
“for what?”
“for showing up like this.”
he almost looked confused by that. “you don’t have to apologize for coming to me.”
that finally broke whatever little bit of composure you had left. you covered your face with your hands, letting out a quiet, shaky breath as the tears started falling again.
ellis didn’t say anything for a moment. but seeing you cry?? he didn’t hesitate and pulled you into his arms immediately. you moved closer, letting him pull you into his chest as his arms wrapped around you.
you buried your face against his shoulder, gripping the back of his hoodie while he held you tightly.
ellis rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, one hand moving slowly up and down your back.
you stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing. slowly, the tight feeling in your chest started to fade, and you finally pulled back just enough to look at him.
ellis looked down at you, his hand still resting against your back. neither of you said anything for a moment. you were still close, and you could feel his eyes moving over your face like he was making sure you were actually okay.
“you okay?” he asked quietly.
you nodded. “yeah. a little.”
he smiled softly. “good.”
neither of you moved. you looked down for a second, suddenly nervous about how close you still were. when you looked back up, ellis was already looking at you.
“what?” you asked quietly.
“nothing.”
you gave him a small smile. “you’re staring.”
“i know.”
you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “you’re weird.”
“yeah, probably.” there was another quiet moment, but this one felt different. ellis looked at you for another second before his eyes dropped to your lips. he hesitated, almost like he was giving you the chance to move away.
you didn’t.
instead, he leaned closer and kissed you.. the kiss was soft and quick because he wanted to make sure you wanted this and he didn’t just make a mistake. “sorry,” he murmured. “i just—”
you shook your head, cutting him off. “don’t be.”
he smiled a little. you looked at him for another second before quietly saying, “do that again.”
ellis didn’t need to be told twice. he leaned in and kissed you again, and this time you smiled against him, your hand lightly gripping the sleeve of his hoodie.
you shift your weight on top of him, and he seems to go still for half a second like he’s trying to catch up with how close you are. then his arms tighten on your waist without letting it break. his mouth deepens against yours, slow and warm, like he’s savoring every second he gets.
you rock gently, and he makes a soft sound right into the kiss, breathing unevenly as his hand slides to your thigh and holds you there. when you pause, even for a moment, he doesn’t let the moment pass he cups your face with his other hand and presses closer, forehead brushing yours as he kisses you again, longer this time.
and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel like you needed to go anywhere.
OKAY WE AINT GETTING TOO FREAKY NOW- that was so hard to write because i don’t go that far i just do a kiss and call it a day.. lmao. to all my smut writers… ur amazing idk how you do it. KEEP IT UPPPP! but anyways how did you guys like this?? guys be honest is it good because i always don’t like my writing. so let me know.. I HOPE U GUYS ENJOYEDDD AND U CAN SEND MORE REQUESTS FOR STERLING POINT (i do others to not just ellis but promise ramona fic coming soon) BYEE!!!!
have you ever tried this one? | 0.4k - @sluvaffair
hurts, but i know how to hide it. kinda like it | 5.3k - @uhhhj13iguess (neighbors, spider-like descriptors, lowkey scary, dubcon bc he's not in a clear state of mind)
brand new spidey | 2.8k - @sluvaffair
inhibitor off | 0.4k - @makeyoumine69
sensory overload | 0.4k - @cherrywineisawaltz
mask on, fuck it, mask of | 8.4k - @dearwalker (sex pollen)
✩ general smut ✩
peter cumming in his pants when you sit on his face! | 0.5k - @nobodys-s0n
down bad! peter parker who fucks like he’s mindless! | 0.7k - @nobodys-s0n
headlock | 0.3k - @carmysdoll (biceps good lord)
cumming in his pants while making out | 0.5k - @drvnkinlov
STICKY….. peter finds some solace in his neighbour | 0.4k - @herodrip (touch starved!peter & overstimulation)
small vivid memories | 1.1k - @snowynns (filming sex)
peter fucking his college gf with the mask on! | 0.4k - @glossiercheek
every day of the week | 0.8k - @pittsick
buntanteen note: peter parker, how i've missed you…i wanted to dip back into the peter parker x reader tag after years and it did not disappoint. hilariously, this account started because i wanted to read spider-man fanfiction, so this is quite full circle.
anyways, i'm just a lil kpop account now, so please don’t expect any more mcu related stuff in the future. if you enjoyed these works, please give the authors some love!! <3
𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 : after a long patrol, peter climbs through your window exhausted, bruised and still half in the spider-man suit. a stupid joke about whether spider-man could eat you out while hanging upside down turns into peter taking the question far too seriously, and what starts as teasing curiosity becomes a filthy little experiment neither of you wants to stop. 18k
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : 18+ . adult!peter parker x fem!reader . established relationship . porn with little plot . spider-man suit kink . upside down oral . cunnilingus . panties kink . overstimulation . multiple orgasms . spit + cum play . messy kissing . face licking . blowjob . handjob . riding . boob worship . nipple play . neck biting . vocal needy peter . floor humping . cum leaking . eating cum out
navigation : kofi .
PETER PARKER HAD DEVELOPED the deeply irritating habit of treating your apartment window like the front door, although calling it a habit made it sound newer than it really was. Somewhere during the months you’d been together, you’d stopped jumping whenever something landed against your fire escape after dark,
stopped reaching instinctively for whatever heavy object happened to be nearest when the window frame suddenly scraped upward, and started recognising the difference between Peter arriving normally and Peter arriving after the kind of patrol that had gone badly.
Tonight landed somewhere in the middle. There was a heavier thump outside than usual, followed by several long seconds of silence, then the faint metallic rattle of somebody getting their footing before your window finally began creeping upward from the bottom.
You were curled beneath a blanket at one end of the couch with some terrible action movie playing on television, and instead of turning around, you merely glanced toward the reflection in the darkened glass across the room as one red-gloved hand appeared around the frame.
Peter was apparently attempting to enter quietly, which might’ve worked considerably better if his shoulder hadn’t knocked against the side of the window and made him mutter something irritated beneath his breath. You waited until half his body had disappeared through the opening, one leg still awkwardly outside while he tried not to catch the suit on the frame, before you finally called, “You know normal boyfriends use the door.”
Everything behind you stopped. Completely. For a second, there wasn’t even the sound of fabric moving, and when you finally turned your head slightly, Peter’s masked face had appeared around the side of the curtain, one white lens narrowed at you while the other remained slightly wider in a look that somehow managed to communicate exhausted offence without revealing an inch of his actual face.
He stayed like that just long enough to make your mouth twitch before finishing his climb inside, landing carefully with one boot against the floor and pulling the second over the sill. Peter straightened with a small roll of his shoulder, glanced down at himself as though checking he hadn’t brought half the fire escape in with him, then looked toward you again.
“Normal boyfriends don’t usually have to explain why there’s blood on their shirt to the neighbour in 4B,” he said eventually, his voice slightly muffled beneath the mask and flatter than the dramatic defence you’d expected.
The word blood made your amusement disappear at once, your gaze dropping instinctively across the red and blue suit as you searched for whatever tear or stain he was referring to, and Peter noticed before you could even sit upright.
Both of his hands lifted immediately in a placating gesture, palms facing you while he shook his head once. “Not mine.” The tension left your shoulders almost as quickly as it had arrived, and even beneath the mask you could see the tiny shift near his mouth that told you he’d noticed.
Peter looked back toward the still-open window, hooking one hand beneath the frame before pulling it shut with considerably more care than he’d shown while climbing through it. “Also,” he added as the latch clicked into place, turning back toward you with the faintest shrug, “the window’s faster.”
You snorted and sank deeper into the cushions, watching him pretend that was the entire explanation. “You mean you don’t want Mrs. Alvarez asking whether you’ve eaten recently.”
Peter’s posture changed immediately, shoulders slumping by half an inch as though you’d found the actual weak spot. He stared at you for a second through the mask, then lowered his chin in reluctant defeat. “That too.”
He reached behind his head and caught the edge of the mask between his fingers, peeling it upward with a tired exhale until his face finally appeared beneath it, and the teasing comment already sitting on your tongue died before it could leave your mouth. Peter looked exhausted.
Not badly injured, not dangerously so, but worn down in the particular way you’d become increasingly familiar with since Spider-Man had stopped being something he squeezed between all the other pieces of his life and started becoming the thing his life seemed to orbit around.
His hair was damp around his forehead, flattened beneath the mask in some places and sticking out stubbornly in others, and a faint bruise was beginning to darken along one cheekbone beneath a streak of grime that travelled almost to his jaw. Peter caught you staring almost immediately.
His eyes flicked over your face, registered the concern there and then moved away before you could say anything, one hand rubbing awkwardly over the back of his neck while the other folded the mask between his fingers. “It looks worse than it is,” he murmured, even though you hadn’t asked, his attention suddenly fixed on the crumpled fabric in his hands.
You didn’t answer straight away. Instead, you slowly raised one eyebrow and let your gaze travel deliberately back toward the bruise. Peter caught the expression from the corner of his eye, closed his mouth and released a quiet sigh through his nose. His shoulders sagged a little more before he looked back at you.
“Actually,” he corrected himself, voice softer now, “that’s probably not true. It looks pretty much exactly as bad as it is.” The dryness of it made the corner of your mouth pull upward despite the lingering concern, and Peter’s expression softened when he realised he’d managed to get even that much of a reaction from you.
You shifted beneath the blanket and patted the empty cushion beside you, expecting him to drop there, but Peter only looked at the space for a moment before walking toward you instead. His steps slowed once he reached the couch, and for several seconds he simply stood between your knees, eyes lowered as if he were deciding whether he wanted to talk about whatever had happened outside.
Then something in him seemed to give. His shoulders dropped, his hands loosened, and Peter bent forward until his forehead came to rest against your stomach. The sudden weight of him made you sink slightly into the cushions, but your hands were already moving before you thought about it, fingers sliding through his sweaty hair and scratching gently against his scalp.
Peter’s eyes closed. His hands settled loosely against either side of your waist, not quite holding you and not quite willing to move away either. “Bad night?” you asked quietly, your fingertips moving more slowly through his hair when you felt the tension still gathered at the base of his neck.
Peter remained silent for a few moments. You could feel him breathing against your shirt, each exhale gradually becoming less tight, before he finally muttered, “Guy threw a parking meter at me.” Your fingers stopped.
Peter must’ve felt it because one eye opened and he tipped his head just enough to look up at you without fully lifting it. “Missed,” he added quickly, almost sheepishly, like he knew exactly where your mind had gone.
You stared down at him for a long second, your expression caught somewhere between concern and disbelief, until the faintest smile finally appeared at the corner of his mouth. Your hand resumed its path through his hair, gently tugging a stubborn strand away from his forehead, and Peter let his face settle against you again.
Several quiet seconds passed before his voice came once more, considerably more bitter this time. “Pigeon got my sandwich, though.” That finally made you look down properly. “Again?” The question came out with enough disbelief that Peter’s eyes squeezed shut. His forehead pressed more firmly against your stomach like he was trying to hide from the humiliation entirely. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Eventually you convinced him to eat the leftovers you’d saved, although convincing might’ve been generous considering all you really had to do was remind him they existed.
Peter disappeared into the kitchen with the heavy, reluctant steps of somebody who’d only just become aware of how hungry he actually was, and when he returned carrying the container, he dropped onto the couch beside you with the quiet weight of someone whose body had finally realised it was allowed to stop moving.
He didn’t change out of the suit. He didn’t even remove his boots at first, stretching his legs out and settling them dangerously close to the edge of your rug until you turned your head and stared pointedly at them. Peter noticed after only a second.
His gaze moved from your face to his boots, then to the rug beneath them, before returning to you with a tired expression that made it clear he knew exactly what you were asking without you saying a word. “Really?” he asked, eyebrows lifting slightly as if tonight of all nights should’ve granted him immunity. You merely continued looking at him.
Peter held your gaze for another second, then sighed and leaned forward, tugging both boots off before dropping them neatly beside the couch. “Happy?” He looked over at you while straightening, the exhaustion around his eyes making the question sound more resigned than annoyed.
You smiled sweetly and adjusted the blanket over your legs. “Very.” Peter’s lips pressed together in a way that told you he had several responses and had decided none of them were worth the energy. Instead, he sank back into the cushions, shifted the food container into one hand and reached for your ankle with the other without seeming consciously aware that he was doing it.
His fingers closed loosely around you, drawing your legs across his lap before he adjusted the blanket over them with a small tug. It had become one of those quiet habits neither of you had discussed. Peter had grown quieter after patrol over the years, less inclined to fill every empty second with nervous chatter and half-finished thoughts, but the silence never meant he wanted distance from you.
If anything, he touched you more when he wasn’t speaking. A thumb moving over your ankle. Fingers finding yours underneath a blanket. His shoulder resting against yours until he practically leaned half his body into you. Tonight was no different. He ate with one hand while the other remained curled around your lower calf, his thumb moving absently over your skin whenever his attention wandered from the television.
Several minutes passed before your gaze caught the flash of red beneath the coffee table. One of his gloves had somehow ended up there, discarded carelessly enough that you had no idea when he’d even removed it. You nudged his thigh with your heel, making his hand tighten reflexively around your ankle before relaxing again.
“You’re leaving Spider-Man everywhere again.” Peter followed your gaze toward the glove. He stared at it for a second, chewing slowly, then looked back at you with an expression of complete seriousness. “Evidence.” You frowned, waiting for the explanation that clearly wasn’t coming on its own. “Evidence of what?”
Peter swallowed, lowered the container slightly and considered the glove like he was seeing it for the first time himself. “That Spider-Man has poor organisational skills.” The complete lack of expression on his face made you laugh before you could help it, and something around Peter’s eyes softened at the sound.
He glanced back toward the television, but you caught the tiny upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not exactly breaking news,” you told him, settling more comfortably against the cushions. Peter nodded once, accepting the criticism with surprising dignity. “Fair.”
The movie had become mostly background noise by the time Peter finished eating, although he watched considerably more of it than you did. Every now and then you’d feel his thumb stop moving against your ankle whenever something particularly stupid happened onscreen,
and then you’d glance sideways only to discover him staring at the television with that increasingly troubled expression he got whenever inaccurate physics seemed to personally offend him.
He’d mostly stopped correcting everything out loud after you threatened to ban him from choosing movies following one particularly unbearable evening involving a collapsing suspension bridge, but his face still betrayed him completely. When one character somehow survived being launched through a concrete wall, Peter’s brow furrowed so deeply that you could almost hear the lecture happening inside his head.
A few seconds later, his eyes slid toward you. You didn’t even look at him fully. “No.” Peter’s eyebrows climbed. He shifted slightly beneath your legs, his mouth opening as though he was genuinely offended by the accusation. “I didn’t say anything.” You finally turned your head and pointed toward his face with one finger. “Your face did.”
Peter stared at you for a beat, clearly considering whether this counted as a fair argument, then pressed his lips together and looked back toward the screen. The movement didn’t hide the little smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. A few minutes later another character ended up dangling upside down from the edge of a rooftop, their body swinging dramatically above several floors of open air, and your attention lingered there longer than it had on anything else in the movie.
Slowly, almost without meaning to, your gaze drifted toward Peter. He was leaning deeper into the couch now, one arm stretched along the back cushions while his other hand continued resting loosely around your ankle. The bruise remained visible along his cheek. His hair was still a complete disaster. The upper half of the suit remained annoyingly tight across his chest and shoulders, every shift of his body making the fabric move with him.
A completely unnecessary thought entered your head. You recognised immediately that it was unnecessary. You also knew that Peter would never let you forget it if you actually said it aloud. Unfortunately, restraint had never been your greatest quality around him. “Can you actually stay like that?” you asked eventually, nodding toward the screen while keeping your tone as casual as you could manage.
Peter followed your gaze. His eyes moved from the dangling character back toward you, and he tilted his head slightly as though making sure he understood the question. “Upside down?” You nodded, pretending you hadn’t given the question much thought. Peter’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Yeah.”
You looked back toward the screen while his thumb began moving against your ankle again. “For how long?” This time he didn’t answer immediately. His brow furrowed slightly while he considered it, gaze drifting somewhere past the television as though he was mentally checking his own limits.
“A while,” he said finally. There was another pause. Peter’s lips pressed together, and then he corrected himself with the kind of reluctant honesty that always betrayed him. “Probably as long as I wanted.”
You hummed beneath your breath and kept looking toward the television, although you could feel Peter’s attention remain on you. He knew you too well. Worse, years of relying on tiny movements and split-second changes in body language to stay alive had made him obnoxiously difficult to fool, which meant your attempt at appearing casually interested had probably failed before you’d even opened your mouth.
Still, you pushed your luck. “Wouldn’t all the blood rush to your head?” you asked, keeping your eyes forward while you shifted one shoulder deeper beneath the blanket. Peter’s fingers slowed against your ankle. The scientific part of his brain visibly took over for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together as he considered the question properly despite the growing suspicion in his eyes.
“Not the way it would for you,” he explained, his thumb resuming its movement as his attention drifted briefly toward the ceiling. “Circulation’s different. Everything compensates pretty quickly.” You nodded slowly as though this information had been exactly what you were after.
For approximately two seconds, you almost got away with it. Then the corner of your mouth twitched. Peter’s hand stopped dead against your skin. You didn’t look at him immediately, which only made it worse, because you could practically feel his gaze move over the side of your face.
Several long seconds passed before he finally spoke. “What?” There wasn’t much amusement in his voice yet. Mostly suspicion. You shook your head, pressing your lips together harder in an attempt to flatten the smile. “Nothing.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly. His grip around your ankle loosened, but his hand remained exactly where it was. “That wasn’t nothing.” The certainty in his tone made you glance toward him at last, and you immediately regretted it.
Peter was watching you with the calm, patient expression of somebody who had already realised you were guilty and was simply waiting for you to confess. You shrugged and looked back at the television. “I was just thinking it could have practical applications.” Peter went completely still.
There wasn’t an immediate joke, and that was the first thing that made warmth curl unexpectedly through your stomach. The younger Peter would’ve stumbled over five different responses before eventually choosing one, but this Peter had learned how to let silence sit between words instead of panicking and trying to fill it. His thumb remained motionless against your ankle while he stared at you, face unreadable for several long seconds.
Then his gaze moved toward the television. After another beat it travelled upward toward the ceiling. You watched the tiny crease form between his eyebrows and immediately knew his brain had started working. “Don’t,” you warned, sitting a little straighter beneath the blanket.
Peter turned his head toward you again, blinking once as if genuinely confused by the accusation. “I didn’t say anything.” You gave him a pointed look, because silence had never stopped Peter Parker from being obvious. “You’re thinking.”
One eyebrow lifted. He looked almost offended by the concept. “Usually happens.” You pushed his thigh lightly with your foot, but his hand closed more securely around your ankle before you could actually land the kick, the movement effortless and almost automatic.
A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth when you narrowed your eyes at him. “Peter.” Hearing his name in that warning tone only seemed to encourage whatever was happening behind his eyes. He looked toward the ceiling once more, gaze tracking the exposed beam crossing part of the room before returning to you.
“What practical applications?” The question was delivered so calmly that for a second you simply stared at him. Your confidence began disappearing now that he was actually making you explain yourself. Peter waited. He didn’t rush you or start talking over the silence. He simply watched, fingers resting warm around your ankle while his expression remained deceptively neutral.
“You know what I mean,” you muttered eventually. Peter’s eyebrows rose another fraction. “I really don’t.” He absolutely did. The amusement had already started showing around his eyes even if the rest of his face remained composed. You stared him down for another few seconds before releasing a defeated breath through your nose.
“I was wondering if Spider-Man could eat pussy upside down.” The words came quickly once you finally forced them out, and the second they landed between you, your face heated enough that you immediately covered part of it with one hand.
The apartment fell painfully quiet except for the dramatic soundtrack still playing on television. Peter didn’t move. You could feel him staring at you through the spaces between your fingers, and embarrassment rushed in quickly enough that you groaned. “Forget I said anything.”
Peter didn’t laugh. Somehow that was considerably worse. Instead, his gaze slowly travelled upward toward the exposed support beam running across part of your ceiling, and his expression became genuinely thoughtful.
You lowered your hand enough to peek at him through your fingers, disbelief replacing some of your embarrassment when you realised he was actually considering it. “Oh my God.”
Peter glanced toward you. There was the faintest pull between his eyebrows, like he didn’t understand why his reaction was surprising. “What?”
You dropped your hand completely and sat straighter. “You’re actually thinking about it.” His mouth pressed into a line that was very obviously concealing something, although whether it was amusement or embarrassment you couldn’t immediately tell. Peter’s gaze drifted back toward the beam for another second before settling on you. “You asked.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh and shook your head. “As a joke.” Peter didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on yours, and something quieter shifted behind them. Eventually, he tilted his head slightly. “Was it?” The question was soft enough that your body betrayed you before your mouth could, heat climbing further into your cheeks while you shifted beneath his stare.
You crossed your arms defensively. “Yes.” Peter gave one small nod. “Okay.” That should’ve been the end of it. Instead, the ease with which he accepted your answer irritated you instantly. Your eyes narrowed. “Why did you say it like that?” His brow furrowed, but the movement was a little too innocent. “Like what?”
You stared at him in disbelief. Peter’s thumb had started rubbing against your ankle again, slow and absent, while he tried very hard to look like he genuinely had no idea what you were talking about. “Like you don’t believe me.”
For a second he looked down at where his hand rested against your skin. When his eyes returned to yours, his expression remained calm, but the smallest spark of amusement sat behind it. “Because you’re blushing.” Your mouth fell open. Peter gave you a tiny shrug. “Observation.”
You grabbed for the nearest cushion without thinking. Peter caught it before you got halfway through the swing, one hand closing around the edge with ridiculous ease. A quiet laugh escaped him as your expression sharpened, the sound warm and surprised, like he genuinely hadn’t expected you to resort to violence.
“You’re annoying,” you informed him, tugging once at the cushion before giving up when he didn’t budge. Peter pushed it gently back into your lap. “Yeah,” he said, settling back against the cushions with a tiny smile. “I’ve heard.”
The teasing should’ve ended there, but Peter’s attention travelled toward the ceiling again, and this time you watched him properly. His eyes tracked the exposed beam, then the distance between it and the couch, and something in his expression shifted so subtly that you almost missed it.
The Spider-Man part of Peter had always been different from the Peter everyone else met. Not a separate person exactly, but a version of him stripped of some of the hesitation that followed him through ordinary life. Lately, the line between the two had become thinner. He didn’t need to posture or brag about what he could do.
Confidence simply settled over him whenever he knew exactly what his body was capable of. “It would work,” he said eventually. The statement came so casually that it took you a second to realise what he meant. You blinked and shifted your legs slightly across his lap.
“What?” Peter looked back down at you, as though the answer should’ve been obvious from the entire conversation. “What you asked.” His fingers loosened from your ankle and travelled absently higher along your calf before coming to rest near your knee.
The movement wasn’t overtly sexual, but your attention dropped toward it anyway. “Physically, I mean.” Your stomach tightened slightly at the matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve put thought into this remarkably fast.” Peter’s shoulders lifted with a small shrug. “Occupational hazard.”
You stared at him until his expression finally cracked, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. “And you’re the one who asked.” Your eyes narrowed. “I’m starting to regret it.” The response came before Peter could stop himself.
“No, you’re not.” It was quieter than everything else he’d said, immediate enough that both of you paused. Peter seemed to hear himself a second late. Something shy flickered over his face and his gaze dipped toward your legs before returning to you. He cleared his throat softly.
“I mean,” he added, suddenly looking far less certain than he had two seconds earlier, “you don’t look like you regret it.” There he was underneath the maturity, still Peter enough to talk himself straight into embarrassment and get faintly pink around the ears once he realised it.
“You’re getting awfully confident for somebody who climbed through my window ten minutes ago complaining about a pigeon,” you murmured, and the comment made Peter breathe out a laugh as he gently shifted your legs away from his lap.
He pushed himself upright and stood, stretching one shoulder until something clicked quietly beneath the suit. His face tightened for half a second at the feeling before relaxing again, and then he looked down at you.
“The pigeon caught me off guard.” His delivery was so completely serious that your mouth twitched. You gave him a pointed look anyway. “Sure.”
Peter stepped closer until his knees nearly touched yours, and the humour remained in his expression even as something warmer started settling underneath it. He rested one hand against the back of the couch beside your shoulder, leaning forward only slightly, but enough that you had to tip your chin upward to keep looking at him.
Up close, you could see every sign of the night he’d had. The small cut near his temple. The bruise along his cheek. The shadows beneath his eyes that told you sleep had probably been optional far too often lately. Yet his attention had narrowed entirely onto you now.
“You know,” he murmured, his gaze flicking briefly over your face, “you’re making fun of me, but this was your question.” You tried to maintain the same unimpressed expression even as your pulse picked up. “A hypothetical question.”
Peter’s eyes dropped toward your mouth. They stayed there for one brief second before returning to yours. “Right.” You swallowed without meaning to. His gaze sharpened immediately, because of course he noticed that too.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Very hypothetical.” You placed one hand against the centre of his chest and pushed lightly, though he barely shifted beneath your palm.
“Don’t be smug.” Peter’s brows lifted, his expression instantly innocent. “I’m not.” You gave him a look. Peter lasted approximately another second before his mouth twitched. “Maybe a little.”
His hand moved from the back of the couch to your jaw slowly enough that you felt every second of it, fingertips settling lightly beneath your chin while his thumb brushed once across your cheek. There was nothing rushed about Peter anymore when he touched you like this.
Even when some lingering patrol adrenaline remained beneath his skin, even when you could feel the strength he constantly kept restrained whenever his body moved near yours, there was a deliberate patience to him that hadn’t existed when he was younger.
He leaned closer until his forehead nearly touched yours, but he stopped just short of actually kissing you. His eyes moved between yours, waiting. You were the one who closed the distance. The first kiss was soft, almost frustratingly so considering the conversation that had led to it, Peter’s mouth moving slowly against yours while his fingers remained warm beneath your jaw.
Your hands caught the front of his suit and pulled him closer, bunching the material beneath your fingers, and a quiet breath escaped through his nose as he let the kiss deepen. His other hand settled against your knee, palm warm through the thin fabric covering you, before sliding gradually higher along your thigh.
He stopped well before reaching anywhere intimate, but the weight of his hand there was enough to make your body shift beneath him. Peter noticed. You felt the tiny pause in his mouth against yours before he pulled away just far enough to look at you.
His lips remained close enough to brush yours whenever either of you breathed. “Still hypothetical?” he asked softly. Your eyes opened fully and found him watching you with restrained amusement, his thumb still moving slowly against your cheek.
You tightened your grip against his suit. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” Peter’s eyes dropped toward your mouth again while he considered that. “A little.” Then he leaned in and kissed the corner of your lips, followed the line of your jaw and stopped beneath your ear. His breath warmed your skin there, and when your shoulders shifted involuntarily, Peter’s hand flexed lightly against your thigh. “Mostly I’m curious.”
“You’re such a fucking nerd,” you whispered, although there wasn’t much conviction left behind the insult with his mouth still lingering against your neck. You felt him smile rather than saw it, the movement pressing faintly against your skin before he lifted his head. “You brought science into it.”
You laughed softly and let your hands slide higher along his chest. “I asked whether you could eat pussy upside down. I didn’t exactly submit a research proposal.” Peter looked at you for one long beat, his eyes darkening with amusement before he murmured, “Could’ve fooled me.” You pushed his shoulder again on instinct.
Peter caught your wrist automatically before your hand travelled more than a few inches, his fingers closing around it with almost insulting ease. He didn’t pin it anywhere or tighten his grip. Instead, he turned your hand over slowly and pressed his mouth briefly against the centre of your palm.
The affection of the gesture caught you so completely off guard that whatever retort you’d been preparing disappeared. Peter seemed to notice the way your expression softened, because his own did too before he released your wrist.
He stayed standing between your knees, close enough that the fronts of his legs brushed yours whenever either of you shifted. “There are variables,” he said after a moment. You stared up at him. “There absolutely are not.”
His brows rose, and some of the scientist returned to his face. “There absolutely are.” He wasn’t babbling through the thought process anymore the way he once might’ve. Instead, he considered each thing before saying it, gaze moving briefly around the room as though he were actually planning the logistics.
“Height,” he said first, looking toward the ceiling. His eyes moved downward again, briefly measuring the space between you and the beam. “Angle. Where you’re sitting.” Then his gaze returned to your face and lingered there. “How much you move.”
Heat rushed into your cheeks immediately. “How much I move?” Peter nodded once, maintaining complete seriousness for approximately half a second before the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
“That seems relevant.” You stared at him. “You’re impossible.” His expression softened into something almost unbearably fond. “You like me.”
Before you could give him the satisfaction of answering, Peter stepped backward and tilted his head toward the ceiling again. His gaze locked onto the exposed beam, and in that instant there was another subtle change in him, the tired boyfriend who’d been sprawled across your lap quietly making room for the man who spent every night calculating distances in fractions of seconds.
He lifted one wrist. The movement was casual, practised enough that he barely needed to look before firing a strand of webbing upward with a sharp thwip, the line attaching cleanly around the beam overhead. Peter gave it one firm tug, testing the hold, then glanced toward you when you immediately sat straighter on the couch.
“Peter.” His hand stopped around the web. He looked at you over his shoulder, expression open but carrying that small spark of amusement he’d been trying and failing to hide for the last ten minutes. “What?”
Your eyes travelled from his face to the line stretching toward the ceiling and then back again. “You’re seriously doing this.” Peter didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped briefly toward your legs, then moved back to your face, and despite all the quiet confidence from seconds earlier, a faint flush began creeping along the tops of his ears.
That tiny betrayal made your mouth curve. He caught the smile immediately and narrowed his eyes just slightly. “You started it,” he reminded you, voice softer now. Then Peter caught the web firmly with one hand, planted the other palm against the wall and stepped onto the vertical surface as naturally as somebody else might climb a staircase.
There wasn’t any theatrical flourish to it. One second he was standing beside you, and the next his body moved smoothly upward, muscles shifting beneath the suit as his hands and feet stuck effortlessly to the wall. You watched him climb, your eyes travelling farther than you intended before Peter stopped halfway toward the ceiling.
He turned his head and looked down at you. His gaze immediately caught yours somewhere around his waist before you could drag it back toward his face, and the little smile that appeared told you he’d noticed exactly where you’d been looking.
Peter adjusted his grip around the web, briefly glanced toward the ceiling as though genuinely checking the logistics one final time, then looked back down. “For the experiment,” he started, trying for clinical and failing because his voice had gone noticeably lower,
“I’m probably gonna need your underwear out of the way.” The words hung there for a second. Peter’s expression shifted almost immediately afterward, confidence giving way to sudden self-awareness as he visibly replayed the sentence inside his head.
His lips pressed together. His cheeks warmed another shade. Then he looked off toward the wall and muttered, “That sounded better in my head.”
You should’ve laughed at him, because the faint colour spreading over Peter’s cheeks after his own terrible choice of words was painfully endearing, but the amusement caught somewhere in your throat when you realised how fast the atmosphere in the room had changed.
The oversized shirt you’d thrown on earlier suddenly felt considerably less innocent where it hung loose around your body, its hem barely covering the tops of your thighs and leaving nothing underneath except the soft cotton panties already clinging wetly to your cunt.
There wasn’t a bra beneath the shirt either, because there hadn’t been any reason for one when your original plans involved a couch, leftovers and probably falling asleep against Peter before the movie finished, but now you were painfully aware of your nipples tightening beneath the thin material
and the way the shirt shifted against them whenever you breathed. Peter noticed too, because of course he did, his eyes dropping for half a second before flicking guiltily back toward your face as though getting caught staring somehow mattered after the conversation you’d just had. That tiny flash of embarrassment only made the heat curling through your stomach worse.
You shifted against the cushions without meaning to, thighs pressing together beneath the hem of your shirt, and the movement made you feel exactly how wet you’d become. Your panties were warm and damp against your pussy, slick spreading through the cotton where it pressed between your folds and dragging against your clit every time you moved, making the ache beneath it noticeably sharper.
It had happened gradually enough that you hadn’t properly noticed at first, beginning as nothing more than a little warmth when Peter started taking your stupid question seriously, building every time his voice dropped or his hand lingered against your thigh or that quiet Spider-Man confidence replaced the awkward embarrassment in his face. Now there was no ignoring it.
Your cunt felt swollen beneath the thin fabric, your clit throbbing against the soaked cotton, and squeezing your thighs together only forced the material tighter against you in a way that made your breath catch. Peter’s eyes dipped toward the movement, and the way his jaw tightened told you he knew exactly what was happening.
He was still clinging halfway up the wall when his gaze settled on your thighs properly. You watched the exact second he noticed the damp centre of your panties beneath the loose hem of your shirt, because his expression changed so slightly anyone else might’ve missed it, the amusement fading into something heavier while his mouth parted around a silent breath.
You swallowed beneath the weight of his stare and slowly let your knees fall apart by a few inches, the oversized shirt sliding higher over your skin until more of your bare thighs were exposed to him. Peter’s eyes followed the movement helplessly before darting back to your face, almost like he was trying to pretend he hadn’t just stared straight between your legs.
You let him struggle for another second before tilting your head and asking, “You gonna keep analysing it from up there, Parker, or are you actually planning on proving something?”
The words came out more confidently than you felt, and Peter’s lips parted immediately like some smart response had occurred to him, only for his gaze to fall between your thighs again and apparently wipe the thought straight out of his head.
He forced himself to look toward the ceiling instead, taking one slow breath that expanded his chest beneath the tight suit while he visibly tried to collect himself.
The pink across his cheeks didn’t disappear, but something else settled over his expression, quieter and more focused, that familiar shift where Peter stopped looking like the tired man who’d climbed through your window and started looking like Spider-Man calculating exactly what his body needed to do.
He tightened one hand around the strand of webbing he’d attached to the exposed ceiling beam and planted his opposite palm firmly against the wall, fingers adhering instantly to the surface. Peter gave the web a hard downward tug to test the hold, then another, his forearm flexing beneath the suit while he checked the angle and distance above you.
Even though both of you knew his webbing could support far more than his weight, he still treated the setup seriously, eyes travelling along the line to the beam before returning to the open space in front of the couch. Watching him turn something so filthy into a genuine logistical problem made your pussy pulse again.
Once Peter was satisfied, he pushed himself upward. One foot stuck to the wall, then the other, his knees bending as he climbed higher with that unnerving ease that always reminded you his body didn’t obey the same rules as yours.
He moved slowly enough that you could watch every controlled shift of muscle beneath the suit, hands and feet alternating against the wall until his head was nearly level with the ceiling. Peter paused there, twisted enough to look over his shoulder at you and immediately caught your gaze somewhere lower than his face.
The suit had pulled tight across his stomach and hips from the position, leaving very little to the imagination, and the slight lift of his eyebrow told you he knew exactly what you’d been looking at. He didn’t tease you for it, though. He only swallowed, glanced down toward your spread thighs again, then deliberately turned his attention back to what he was doing before either of you embarrassed yourselves further.
Peter shifted both feet from the wall onto the ceiling itself, one after the other, until he was crouched completely above you like gravity had simply stopped mattering. Both palms pressed flat against the ceiling while his knees bent beneath him, and his messy brown hair had already started falling away from his forehead.
He repositioned one hand, then slowly rotated his hips, moving one foot and then the other until his back faced the wall and his body was aligned directly above the space between your knees. The movement was controlled and strangely graceful, every adjustment precise enough that you could tell he was already thinking about where his mouth needed to end up.
Then Peter caught the webbing again with both hands and released his feet from the ceiling. His legs unfolded above him as his body gradually lowered beneath the beam, gravity pulling him straight until he hung fully upside down in front of you.
His hair dropped toward the floor immediately, soft brown strands hanging messily away from his forehead and making him look unmistakably like Peter despite the Spider-Man suit covering everything else.
He gave the web another firm pull, tested his weight, then released one hand and twisted his shoulders slightly to make sure he wasn’t going to rotate once he started moving against you. His free palm briefly pressed against the wall beside him, steadying his body while he adjusted the webbing around his wrist and lowered himself another few inches.
Peter’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he measured the distance between his face and the edge of the couch, then looked at you, down toward the floor from his inverted perspective and back toward you again. “Too high,” he muttered quietly to himself, releasing a little more web until his upside-down face was almost level with your knees.
The seriousness of it should’ve been funny, but there was something obscene about watching Spider-Man carefully calibrate the exact height he needed so he could eat your pussy comfortably.
You couldn’t help smiling at him while he made one final adjustment, and Peter caught it from the corner of his eye. His brows pulled together as he stretched one arm toward the wall again, using his palm to stop the last slow swing of his body before becoming almost perfectly still.
“What?” he asked, a faintly defensive edge slipping into his voice as though he suspected you were about to make fun of him. You shook your head slowly, letting your gaze wander down his inverted body again because there was something unfairly attractive about how comfortable he looked hanging there.
“Nothing,” you murmured, and Peter’s mouth twitched because neither of you believed that for a second. Once he was satisfied with the position, he released the wall and let both hands drop toward you, flexing his fingers experimentally while checking whether maintaining the position took any actual effort.
Apparently it didn’t. He looked almost irritatingly relaxed hanging upside down in front of you, like this was simply another perfectly reasonable way for him to spend an evening.
“Okay,” Peter murmured eventually, and his voice had gone noticeably rougher than before. His eyes travelled from your face down toward the oversized shirt pooled around your thighs, then lower still until his gaze settled on the damp cotton between them. You watched his throat work when he swallowed.
The change in him made you scoot forward without being asked, the couch cushions compressing beneath your weight as you moved toward the edge, and Peter immediately adjusted in response. He released tiny lengths of webbing at a time, lowering himself inch by inch until his face lined up perfectly with the space between your thighs.
Every time you shifted forward, he compensated automatically, like some part of his brain was mapping the distance before you even stopped moving. You’d watched Spider-Man judge impossible gaps between buildings in fractions of seconds, twist through traffic and catch himself midair without hesitation, and now every bit of that ridiculous coordination was being devoted to putting his mouth exactly where you wanted it.
When you finally reached the edge of the couch, Peter’s upside-down face was directly between your knees. His hair almost brushed the floor beneath him, and his shoulders hovered close enough that your thighs could touch them if you spread a little wider. The humour disappeared from his expression the moment you did.
You let your knees fall apart slowly, deliberately, watching his reaction while the hem of your oversized shirt slid higher and exposed more bare skin until the soaked centre of your panties was completely visible to him. Peter’s eyes followed every inch of the movement.
His lips parted when he saw how dark the cotton had become between your legs, and his breathing changed before he said anything, one deeper inhale expanding his chest before he released it slowly through his nose.
You felt another warm pulse of slick leak from your cunt into the fabric under his stare, making the already damp cotton cling more tightly to your folds.
Peter looked back toward your face for a moment, then down again like he simply couldn’t stop himself. When your own gaze travelled down the inverted length of his body in return, tracing the suit over his chest and stomach before reaching his hips, you immediately noticed the shape beginning to push against the fabric between his thighs.
Peter was getting hard just from watching you spread your legs for him. His cock thickened beneath the suit until the material stretched visibly tighter around it, the outline becoming harder to ignore every time his eyes returned to the soaked cotton covering your pussy.
Seeing that reaction made your cunt clench. Peter noticed where you were looking and let out a tiny, embarrassed sound in the back of his throat, but the flush crawling over his upside-down face did absolutely nothing to stop his cock from straining harder against the suit.
He reached for you carefully once you were settled. Both hands slid around the backs of your thighs, palms warm against your skin as he gently pulled you a little closer toward the edge until your covered pussy hovered only inches above his mouth.
The strength in his grip was obvious despite how careful he was, fingers spreading against your thighs while he adjusted you into exactly the position he wanted and then immediately loosening again. His eyes returned to your panties.
Peter’s tongue dragged slowly over his bottom lip before he hooked two fingers beneath the waistband at one hip, his knuckles brushing your skin and making your stomach tighten. “Lift up for me,” he murmured,
and the slight roughness in his voice made the request sound considerably dirtier than it needed to. You planted your hands against the couch and raised your hips, watching Peter’s gaze darken as he started pulling the cotton slowly downward.
The panties peeled away from your pussy with a damp little drag that made heat rush straight into your face. Peter’s eyes snapped toward the movement, watching the fabric separate from the slick caught between your folds before he guided the waistband over your ass and down your thighs.
You lifted one leg, then the other, allowing him to slide them completely free, and cool air hitting your bare cunt made you inhale sharply. Your thighs twitched around his head while your pussy clenched around nothing.
Slick immediately gathering glossy between your swollen folds now that nothing covered them. Peter stared. For several seconds he didn’t seem capable of doing anything else, your panties held loosely in one hand while his eyes traced every wet inch of you.
You expected him to throw the panties somewhere. Instead, his attention dropped to the fabric in his hand. The centre was visibly soaked, dark with your arousal, and Peter’s fingers tightened around the cotton almost without him realising it.
His eyes flicked toward you briefly, something embarrassed already creeping across his expression, before he lifted the panties toward his nose and inhaled. His lashes fluttered shut.
The pathetic little whimper that escaped him sounded completely involuntary, soft and needy enough that his entire body went still the instant he heard it. Peter’s eyes opened again, cheeks burning while he stared at the underwear still held against his face like he couldn’t believe his own reaction.
You bit your lip to stop yourself laughing, but Peter caught it immediately. His eyes narrowed in warning, though whatever dignity he was trying to recover disappeared when he pressed the soaked cotton more firmly beneath his nose and took another slower breath. His mouth parted.
Another tiny, broken sound caught somewhere in his throat, and his cock visibly twitched beneath the suit at the same time. “Peter,” you breathed, his name coming out somewhere between disbelief and a moan, and the sound made his eyes snap back toward yours.
There was embarrassment in them, plenty of it, but there was something hotter underneath now, a kind of needy fascination he clearly couldn’t hide.
He lowered the panties from his face but didn’t let them go. Instead, Peter’s gaze travelled between your legs again, settling on your exposed pussy where your folds were already shiny with slick.
Your lips were swollen from arousal, parted enough that he could see the wet little opening lower down and the way your cunt clenched every time his eyes lingered there.
Peter stared openly. His tongue moved across his bottom lip while his breathing grew a little heavier, and you watched another visible throb travel through his cock beneath the suit. “Fuck,” he whispered almost absently,
the word slipping out before he seemed aware he’d actually spoken. When your pussy clenched again in response, a fresh bead of slick gathered at your entrance and began sliding downward through your folds, and Peter’s eyes locked onto it instantly.
He leaned closer, but instead of putting his mouth on you immediately, the hand still holding your panties moved between your thighs. Peter folded the soaked cotton loosely around two fingers, his eyes lifting toward yours as though checking your reaction before he touched you.
The first drag of fabric over your clit was almost unbearably light. Damp cotton brushed across the swollen little bud, carrying your own slick with it, and your hips jerked forward before you could stop yourself. Peter’s lips parted around a quiet breath. He did it again, slower this time, rubbing the wet fabric directly over your clit in a small circle while watching your face with intense concentration.
The texture made everything feel filthier. The panties were already soaked from being pressed against your cunt, and now Peter was using that same wet patch to stroke your clit, dragging the soft cotton over it until the fabric became even slicker.
Your thighs spread farther around his head, and Peter’s cock twitched visibly beneath the suit when he saw you deliberately open yourself wider for him. He rubbed the panties against your clit again, applying a little more pressure this time, and a shaky moan slipped out of you before you could swallow it.
Peter’s expression changed immediately. Something pleased and slightly wrecked moved across his face, his eyes dropping toward the way your pussy glistened beneath the fabric.
He shifted the panties lower for a second, dragging the soaked cotton through your folds and pressing it lightly against your entrance before pulling it back toward your clit.
The sensation made your cunt clench against the fabric, smearing more slick into it, and Peter’s eyes went almost painfully dark when he watched your body wet the panties even further.
He brought them back toward his face without thinking, took another breath against the newly soaked cotton and whimpered again, louder this time. The sound made your stomach tighten so hard it almost hurt.
Peter looked genuinely pathetic about it, hanging upside down with your panties clutched in one hand, cheeks flushed, cock straining against the suit and eyes half-lidded because apparently smelling and touching your wet cunt at the same time had overwhelmed whatever remaining dignity he possessed.
“You like that way too much,” you murmured breathlessly, watching Peter’s expression tighten in embarrassment before his gaze returned between your thighs. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he dragged the panties once more across your clit, slow enough to make your hips chase the pressure, then let the fabric fall away from you while keeping it clenched in his fingers.
Your pussy looked even messier now, slick spread over your swollen folds and clit from the rubbing, and Peter stared at the shine covering you. His mouth opened slightly. The tip of his tongue appeared against his bottom lip. You could practically see the moment restraint disappeared.
Peter leaned closer without touching at first. Warm breath rolled across your exposed cunt, making your thighs twitch around his shoulders, and his eyes lifted toward yours from between them. The look on his face made your pulse jump.
There was still a little awkward Peter beneath it, still that faint flush along his cheeks, but the confidence had settled back over him now that he knew exactly what he wanted to do.
He closed the remaining distance and pressed his mouth directly against your pussy. The first contact was open and wet, his lips settling over your slick folds before his tongue dragged slowly from your entrance upward.
He started at the wet little hole already leaking for him, catching the slick there with the tip of his tongue before flattening it against you and licking all the way through your folds. When his tongue passed firmly over your clit, your entire body jerked.
One hand flew into Peter’s hanging hair and closed around a fistful of it while your thighs threatened to clamp around his head. Peter groaned straight into your cunt when you pulled him closer, the vibration travelling through your clit
and making your hips buck hard enough that both of his hands immediately returned to your thighs. He steadied you with effortless strength, fingers digging carefully into the soft flesh while his mouth stayed exactly where you wanted it.
Being upside down didn’t hinder him in the slightest once he found the angle. If anything, Peter seemed fascinated by figuring out what worked from the position, lowering himself another fraction on the web and turning his head until he could bury his mouth comfortably against you without straining his neck.
His tongue pushed between your folds again, licking through the slick coating you before dipping lower toward your entrance. He collected everything your body gave him before dragging it back toward your clit, smearing your arousal over the swollen bud with broad, messy strokes.
You could hear how wet you were every time his mouth moved. Soft, filthy sounds filled the apartment beneath your breathing, and Peter seemed to fucking love every one of them.
His nose brushed against your clit when his tongue slid lower, nudging it accidentally before he realised the reaction it caused. Your hips jerked. Your fingers tightened painfully in his hair. Peter’s eyes opened wider and immediately did it again on purpose, pressing the bridge of his nose against your clit while his tongue worked lower through your folds.
The combination made a broken sound tear from your throat, and Peter groaned directly against your pussy like hearing you lose control was affecting him just as badly. His cock jerked visibly inside the suit. Even upside down, you could see the thick outline trapped against the fabric, painfully hard and twitching every time you moaned his name.
When Peter finally wrapped his lips around your clit, your back arched away from the couch. He sucked slowly at first, tongue pressing against the sensitive little bud inside his mouth while your thighs shook around him.
Your grip in his hair tightened until you were practically using it to hold him exactly where you wanted him. Peter let you. More than that, the pathetic moan that vibrated against your cunt when you pulled his hair told you he fucking liked it.
His hands spread your thighs wider, fingers firm but careful, and he buried his face deeper between them until his mouth and chin were shining with your slick.
Every time you forced yourself to look down, the sight made the pleasure worse. Peter looked obscene hanging upside down between your legs, messy hair falling toward the floor while his mouth worked relentlessly against your cunt.
Your pussy was visibly swollen around his face, wet folds spreading around his tongue every time he licked upward, slick coating his lips and gathering along his chin.
Whenever he pulled away just enough to breathe, you could see your arousal glistening across his skin. Then his mouth would immediately return, like even a few seconds away from tasting you was too long.
Peter’s eyes were half-lidded but intensely focused. Whenever you made a particularly desperate sound, they opened wider and fixed on your face, watching for the exact movement that had caused it before he repeated whatever he’d done.
His tongue slid back down to your entrance, circling it slowly before pushing inside just enough to make your cunt tighten around him. Peter whimpered when he felt you clench. The sound came muffled and needy against your pussy, followed by another little twitch of his hips in the air as if his body was searching automatically for something to grind his cock against.
Your gaze travelled down his inverted body again, following the tight suit over his stomach and hips until you found the thick outline straining between his thighs. Peter was fully hard now. Painfully hard from the look of it, the fabric stretched tight enough around his cock that every involuntary twitch was obvious.
He hadn’t touched himself once. He was getting that worked up purely from being between your legs, from licking your cunt and smelling your wet panties and feeling your pussy clench around his tongue. The knowledge made another rush of slick spill from you.
Peter caught you staring at his cock. His eyes followed your gaze as much as his inverted position allowed, and for a second embarrassment flashed visibly across his face. It didn’t last long.
Something filthier replaced it, something hot and needy and almost proud when he realised you were watching exactly how hard eating you out had made him. He held your gaze as he lowered his mouth back toward your pussy. Then he wrapped his lips around your clit again and sucked hard enough to make your whole body arch.
The cry that tore from you was loud enough that Peter’s eyes widened for half a second. Then something pleased flickered across his face. He sucked again, slower this time, tongue pressing insistently against your clit while his lips pulled around it.
Your thighs shook so badly against his hands that he tightened his grip enough to keep you comfortably spread. Your fingers twisted deeper into his hair, and you ground shamelessly against his mouth, using him while he hung there between your legs. Peter moaned like the idea of being used for your pleasure was doing something terrible to him.
His cock twitched again. Hard. The movement was obvious enough that you couldn’t stop staring, and when Peter noticed your eyes drop there, another pathetic little sound vibrated against your cunt. “Fuck, Peter,” you gasped, voice breaking around his name while your hips rolled harder against his tongue.
He answered by dragging one long stroke through your pussy, licking from your entrance all the way over your clit before immediately repeating it. Your own slick coated his tongue, lips and chin, and every time he licked you clean your body seemed determined to make another mess for him.
He looked completely gone on it now. Flushed, breathless, hanging upside down with your soaked panties still twisted around one hand and his cock straining desperately beneath the Spider-Man suit while his tongue worked over your cunt like he couldn’t make himself stop.
Every few seconds his fingers tightened around the panties, almost like he’d forgotten he was still holding them until the smell reached him again. Once, he brought them briefly back beneath his nose while his mouth hovered inches from your pussy and took another deep breath, eyes closing as a shaky whimper escaped him. The sight was so fucking filthy that your cunt clenched hard enough for Peter to see it.
His eyes snapped open. He watched your pussy contract around nothing, slick shining at your entrance, and immediately dropped the panties away so he could put his mouth back on you. His tongue pressed against your clit with quicker little strokes now, then slowed deliberately whenever your hips started moving too frantically.
Peter was learning you too easily, teasing without even seeming to mean to, changing rhythm every time he felt your thighs tremble or heard your breathing break. The pleasure tightened lower in your stomach, hot and heavy and increasingly difficult to ignore.
Your head fell back against the couch. The oversized shirt had ridden high over your stomach from all the movement, leaving most of your thighs and lower body completely exposed while Peter kept you spread open for him. Your mouth stayed open around helpless sounds that only seemed to encourage him.
Every time you whispered or moaned his name, Peter’s cock jerked beneath the suit and another needy sound escaped into your pussy. He was so hard from eating you that it looked genuinely uncomfortable, but he still never reached down to touch himself.
When your thighs began shaking harder around his head, Peter tightened his grip just enough to steady them. His eyes lifted toward your face from between your legs, his expression flushed and desperate despite the control in every movement of his mouth.
His lips were wet. His chin was slick. Your panties were still clutched in one hand. His cock was painfully hard beneath the suit. He looked utterly wrecked by your pussy and somehow still completely determined to keep going until you were worse.
Whatever stupid joke had started this had disappeared completely. There was nothing hypothetical about Peter hanging upside down between your legs anymore, mouth buried against your dripping cunt while your thighs trembled around his head and your fingers pulled at his hair.
The experiment had stopped being about whether Spider-Man could eat pussy upside down somewhere around the moment he’d whimpered into your soaked panties. Now it was just Peter licking, sucking and grinding his mouth against you with his cock painfully trapped inside his suit, apparently determined to find out exactly how badly he could make you fall apart before he finally had to come back down.
Peter was so completely lost between your thighs by that point that whatever embarrassment he’d carried into the whole thing had burned away, leaving him flushed, needy and devastatingly focused on your pussy. His tongue kept working over your swollen clit in slow, wet circles before flattening firmly against it, and every time your thighs trembled around his head his fingers flexed into the soft flesh to keep you spread exactly where he wanted you.
Your hips had stopped pretending to stay still, grinding shamelessly against his mouth whenever he found the right pressure, and Peter took every movement without complaint, letting you push yourself harder against his tongue while he moaned beneath you. The slick noises coming from between your legs were impossible to ignore now, wet and messy every time his mouth dragged through your folds, and Peter seemed to get more worked up with every sound.
Your gaze kept slipping down the inverted length of his body toward the cock straining inside his suit, and this time you noticed the fabric over the head had begun to darken. A tiny wet spot had appeared where his tip pressed against the material, followed moments later by another glossy bead of precum soaking through when his cock twitched violently at the sound of you moaning his name.
Peter noticed exactly where you were staring, his eyes following your gaze as much as the upside-down position allowed, but instead of becoming shy again, he let out a pathetic little whimper directly against your cunt.
The vibration rolled through your clit and made you jerk against him, your fingers tightening in his hair while another bead of precum seeped through the suit, leaving the fabric visibly damp around the head of his cock.
He hadn’t even touched himself, hadn’t reached down once despite how painfully hard he looked, and knowing that eating your pussy alone had him leaking into the Spider-Man suit made your stomach pull tighter with pleasure.
Peter felt you getting close before you managed to tell him. Your breathing had become uneven and broken, your thighs trembling constantly instead of occasionally, and every slow circle of his tongue made your cunt clench helplessly around nothing. Your fingers twisted harder into his hair when his lips closed around your clit, and Peter answered with a hungry moan, sucking the swollen little bud while the tip of his tongue rubbed firmly over it.
Your stomach tightened painfully. Heat gathered lower and lower until your entire body felt wound around the sensation of Peter’s mouth, and when he sucked again while his tongue flicked against you, the pressure finally broke. Your orgasm hit hard enough that your body went rigid before immediately falling apart beneath it, hips bucking into his face while your pussy clenched and pulsed through each wave. Peter didn’t stop.
He groaned against you as you came, keeping his lips and tongue pressed against your clit while fresh slick spilled across his mouth, coating his tongue, lips and chin as he licked you through every trembling aftershock.
Your thighs tried to close around his head, but his hands held them apart with gentle strength while you cried his name and ground against him, too overwhelmed to care how messy you were making his face.
The sight of you cumming seemed to hit Peter almost as hard as it hit you, because his cock jerked sharply beneath the suit and another wet bead of precum pushed through the fabric, joining the dark patch already spread around the tip.
By the time the orgasm began fading, your whole body had gone loose and shaky against the couch, your clit still twitching with sensitivity every time Peter’s tongue passed over it. You had to tug gently at his hair before he finally understood that you needed him to stop, because he’d become so absorbed in licking the last of your slick from your folds that he seemed genuinely reluctant to pull his mouth away.
Peter left one final kiss against your pussy before lifting his head, and the sight of him made something hot stir inside you all over again despite how sensitive you still were. Your slick was smeared all over the lower half of his face. His lips were wet and slightly swollen from eating you, his chin glistened beneath the light from the television, and there was even a faint shine along the edge of his cheek where your arousal had spread while you ground against him.
Peter looked up at you from his inverted position, breathing heavily, hair hanging messily toward the floor and expression completely satisfied with what he’d done to you. You reached toward him before you’d even fully decided what you wanted, fingers sliding beneath his jaw and turning his upside-down face slightly toward you.
His eyebrows lifted in question, but Peter stayed perfectly still when you leaned forward and dragged your tongue slowly across his chin. The taste of your own slick hit your tongue immediately, warm and intimate from where it coated his skin, and Peter’s mouth fell open around a soft sound when you licked another stripe upward toward the corner of his mouth.
You cleaned your arousal from his face slowly, tongue passing across his jaw, chin and swollen lips, deliberately gathering every wet trace he’d left there until his skin was almost clean.
Peter watched you the entire time. His eyes were darker now, following the movement of your mouth with obvious hunger while his cock continued twitching helplessly inside the damp suit. You licked the final streak of slick from his bottom lip and sat back just enough to let the mixture of your arousal and saliva collect deliberately in your mouth instead of swallowing it.
Peter’s expression shifted as he realised what you were doing, his eyes widening slightly before dropping toward your lips. You kept one hand beneath his jaw and tipped his face toward yours. “Open your mouth,” you told him softly. Peter obeyed immediately, lips parting and tongue visible while he looked at you with the same needy openness he’d shown when he’d sniffed your panties earlier.
You leaned closer until your faces were only inches apart, held his gaze and spat the slick mixture straight onto his tongue. Peter made a quiet, breathless moan when it landed in his mouth. His eyes never left yours as he closed his lips, swallowed everything you’d given him and then ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip like he didn’t want to waste even the taste left behind.
You watched his throat move as he swallowed, and his cock jerked beneath the suit hard enough that another tiny bead of precum soaked through the already damp material. The reaction pulled a satisfied smile from you, and Peter looked almost dazed when you brushed your thumb across his wet lower lip before telling him, “Come back down.”
Peter reacted immediately, although he was noticeably less composed than he’d been when he originally positioned himself above you. He reached upward along the webbing and pulled himself toward the ceiling with one arm, the muscles across his stomach tightening beneath the suit as he brought both feet back against the surface above him.
His palms adhered beside them while he twisted his hips and shoulders, carefully turning himself from the inverted hanging position into a crouch against the ceiling. He released one hand, planted it firmly against the wall and transferred one foot onto the vertical surface before the other followed, movements still controlled despite the obvious erection trapped painfully between his thighs.
Peter climbed downward quickly, peeling one hand and foot from the wall at a time while the remaining limbs kept him anchored, until he was low enough to simply push away and land softly on the floor in front of you.
He had barely straightened before you stood. Your legs immediately betrayed you, knees wobbling from the orgasm strongly enough that Peter’s expression changed and one hand shot instinctively around your waist to catch you.
A quiet, breathy laugh escaped him, but it lasted barely a second because you grabbed the front of his suit, pulled him toward you and kissed him hard. Peter stumbled half a step before recovering, one arm tightening around your waist while the other hand slid behind your neck, and then his mouth opened against yours without hesitation. You could still taste yourself faintly on his tongue when it met yours, the knowledge of what he’d just swallowed making the kiss feel filthy in a completely different way.
There wasn’t any of Peter’s earlier shyness left once you were standing together. He kissed you with an open hunger that made it obvious how long he’d spent desperately hard while concentrating entirely on you, tongue pushing against yours while his hands moved restlessly over your waist and back.
Your body pressed flush against his, and the instant his cock was trapped between your stomach and his suit you could feel exactly how hard he’d become. You slid one hand down between your bodies and covered the thick bulge through the fabric, pressing your palm firmly against his cock. Peter immediately broke the kiss with a loud, helpless moan against your mouth, hips jerking forward into your hand before he could stop himself.
He’d never been particularly quiet when sex was involved, and now that the embarrassment was gone he didn’t bother holding back anything. Every slow stroke of your palm over his cock pulled another sound from him, sometimes a rough groan from deep in his chest, sometimes a higher broken moan when your fingers rubbed directly over the damp fabric covering his sensitive head.
You could feel the heat of him even through the suit, his cock solid beneath your hand and twitching hard whenever your thumb circled the tip. Peter rested his forehead against yours for a second, eyes squeezing shut while his mouth remained open around another needy sound, then immediately kissed you again like he couldn’t stand being separated from you for even that long.
You kept palming him while you kissed, fingers tracing the full outline of his cock through the suit from the base to the leaking tip. The wet patch of precum had spread enough that the material felt faintly damp beneath your fingertips, and when you rubbed over it Peter shuddered visibly.
His hips rolled forward on instinct, pushing his cock harder against your palm while his hand tightened against your waist. “Keep doing that,” he breathed against your lips, voice rough and broken, and you barely gave him time to finish before dragging your palm slowly down the length of him again.
Peter moaned openly into your mouth, completely unconcerned with hiding how good it felt. There was something incredibly sexual about how expressive he was, the way every touch pulled an immediate reaction from him, whether it was his breathing catching, his stomach tightening beneath the suit,
his cock jumping against your hand or another sound spilling straight into your kiss. The shy colour remained faintly across his cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment anymore. He wanted you to know what you were doing to him.
The oversized shirt still hanging around your body suddenly felt like far too much clothing. You pulled back just enough to catch the hem with both hands and dragged it slowly upward over your stomach, and Peter’s attention immediately dropped toward the movement.
The fabric rose past your ribs, exposing more bare skin, and his breathing changed when the lower curves of your boobs appeared. You pulled the shirt completely over your head and tossed it somewhere behind the couch, leaving yourself naked from the waist up in front of him. Peter went completely still for a second.
His cock was still pressed against your hip through the suit, his lips remained wet from kissing you, but his eyes dropped straight toward your boobs with such naked appreciation that your nipples hardened beneath the attention alone.
His hands lifted slowly, almost reverently, palms settling around the soft weight of your boobs before his thumbs brushed across both nipples. The contact made you inhale sharply, and Peter’s eyes immediately lifted toward your face to watch your reaction before returning to your chest.
He touched your boobs like he couldn’t get enough of them. His hands squeezed gently, thumbs rubbing across your hardened nipples before his fingers spread underneath and lifted them slightly in his palms. Peter leaned forward and kissed the upper curve of one boob, then another kiss lower, then another closer to your nipple until his tongue finally dragged slowly across it.
Your fingers slid into his hair as his lips closed around the sensitive bud and sucked, and Peter groaned softly into your skin when you pulled him closer. His free hand kept kneading your other boob, thumb circling the nipple before pinching it lightly enough to make your back arch toward him.
He switched sides after a moment, kissing his way across your chest and taking the opposite nipple into his mouth while his hand returned to the first. Peter looked almost drunk on touching you, mouth warm and wet over your boobs while his cock repeatedly twitched against your body.
Every little sound you made encouraged him, and between kisses he murmured how soft you felt, how pretty your boobs looked in his hands and how badly he’d wanted to get your shirt off since you’d spread your thighs for him earlier.
Eventually you had to pull him away by the hair because Peter seemed perfectly willing to spend the rest of the night with his face buried against your boobs. He lifted his head reluctantly, lips swollen and damp, eyes unfocused for a moment before landing on your face.
Your fingers travelled down the front of his suit, and the second Peter realised you were trying to get it off, his own hands immediately joined yours. He peeled the upper half away from his shoulders first, dragging the tight material down his arms and exposing his chest and stomach inch by inch.
You ran your palms over the warm skin as it appeared, feeling the lean muscle underneath while Peter breathed harder beneath your touch. The suit gathered around his hips, and he hooked both thumbs under the fabric before pushing it farther down.
You helped, dragging the material over his hips and thighs while Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other until the suit finally released what it had been compressing for the last several minutes.
Peter sucked in a sharp breath the second his cock sprang free. It was hard enough to stand heavy against his lower stomach, thick and visibly flushed from being trapped inside the suit while he ate you out. The head was darker than the rest, glossy with precum, the slit wet enough that another clear bead gathered while you stared before slowly rolling over the rounded tip.
A thick vein ran visibly along the underside of his shaft, disappearing near the base where dark curls spread above it, and every few seconds his cock gave another involuntary twitch toward his stomach. The skin looked stretched tight around how full he was, his balls drawn close beneath the shaft from how painfully aroused he’d become without touching himself.
Peter looked down at you watching him and let out a shaky breath, but there was no attempt to cover himself or hide anymore. His chest rose and fell quickly, his hair was still ruined from your hands, his lips remained swollen from your kisses and your slick, and another bead of precum had already formed at the tip of his cock by the time your eyes returned there.
You watched it swell slowly at the slit before dragging your gaze back up Peter’s body and meeting his eyes. His throat moved in a hard swallow when he saw the expression on your face, and without breaking eye contact, you slowly lowered yourself onto your knees in front of him.
Peter went completely still when your knees touched the floor, his entire body seeming to lock around the sight of you looking up at him from beneath your lashes. For all the confidence he’d carried once he had his mouth between your thighs, this was different, because now there was nowhere for him to hide from how badly he wanted it.
His cock stood hard and heavy in front of you, thick enough that your fingers barely looked like enough when you wrapped one hand around the base, and the heat of him against your palm made your stomach tighten all over again. Another bead of precum gathered at the slit while you watched, glossy and clear, swelling slowly before beginning to slide down over the flushed head.
Peter’s breath hitched when you leaned forward instead of touching it with your fingers, and the sound broke into a low moan the second your tongue caught the bead from his tip. He tasted salty and warm, the precum spreading across your tongue as you dragged it slowly around the head, taking your time with the sensitive ridge until Peter’s hand shot out and braced against the wall beside him.
His mouth had fallen open already, eyes fixed on you like he couldn’t look away even if it killed him, and when you licked over the slit again, his hips jerked forward so sharply he immediately choked out, “Sorry, sorry.” The apology only made you smile around him, because he looked ruined before you’d even properly started.
You kept one hand around the base of his cock while the other settled against his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath your palm as you dragged your tongue down the underside of his shaft. He was so hard that every vein stood out beneath your mouth, the thick one underneath pressing against your tongue when you licked slowly from the base back to the tip.
Peter made a broken sound above you, not quiet or restrained, just openly needy, his fingers spreading against the wall as if he needed something solid to keep himself upright. You circled the head with your tongue again, then kissed the slick tip in a deliberately soft, filthy little gesture that made his cock twitch against your lips.
“Don’t tease,” he breathed, voice rough and already unsteady, and when you glanced up at him, his face was flushed so deeply that even his ears were red. You rewarded the plea by taking the head of his cock into your mouth, lips sealing around him while your tongue pressed firmly against the underside.
Peter’s reaction was immediate and loud, a full moan spilling out of him as his head tipped back, throat exposed, chest rising hard with every breath. The sound made your pussy clench even though he wasn’t touching you anymore, and you hummed around him just to feel the way his whole body shuddered.
The vibration nearly took his knees out. Peter’s other hand flew into your hair, not pushing, not forcing, just grabbing like he needed to hold onto something before his body forgot how to stand. You took him a little deeper, jaw stretching around the thickness of him while your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t fit yet, twisting slowly at the base.
His cock was hot and heavy on your tongue, precum smearing against the roof of your mouth as you worked him in shallow, wet pulls. Peter kept making sounds with every motion, soft gasps turning into rougher moans whenever your lips tightened or your tongue dragged over the sensitive head on the way back up.
He tried to watch you, but every few seconds his eyes squeezed shut like the sight was too much, only to open again almost immediately because he clearly couldn’t stand missing it. Your free hand slid higher up his thigh, nails lightly dragging against his skin, and his cock jumped in your mouth hard enough to make you pause.
Peter looked down quickly, breath catching when he saw the way your lips were stretched around him, and the hand in your hair tightened before loosening again in the same second.
You pulled off just enough to breathe, letting your lips drag slowly over the head before he slipped free with a wet sound. Peter’s hips twitched toward your mouth again, desperate for the warmth he’d just lost, and you looked up at him while stroking him with your hand instead.
His cock was slick now from your mouth and his own precum, your fingers gliding more easily as you pumped him from base to tip, thumb circling the flushed head each time you reached it. “Look at you,” you murmured, voice low as your gaze travelled over his flushed face, his open mouth, the way his chest kept lifting quickly. “You were so noisy eating my pussy, and now you’re even worse.”
Peter let out a strained laugh that broke halfway into another moan when your thumb pressed directly over the slit. “Can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice rough and breathless. The honesty in it made heat lick up your spine.
He wasn’t trying to be controlled now, wasn’t trying to make some awkward joke or act composed, and when you leaned forward to lick a slow line up his shaft again, he moaned your name so openly that you felt it between your legs. You took him back into your mouth before he could say anything else.
This time you pushed deeper. Your lips slid down over him inch by inch while your hand tightened at the base, and Peter’s entire body went rigid above you. His fingers threaded through your hair again, trembling slightly as he fought the instinct to buck into your mouth, and you could feel the restraint in every tense line of him.
You hollowed your cheeks and dragged upward slowly, then sank back down, wet heat closing around him while your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock. Peter swore under his breath once, sharp and helpless, then immediately fell into a string of broken sounds that barely formed words at all.
His hips began moving in small involuntary rolls, not enough to take control, just enough to chase the rhythm of your mouth, and you let him because the desperation of it made your thighs press together. Saliva gathered at the corners of your lips, mixing with the precum leaking from him until every stroke sounded slick and obscene.
When he looked down again, his face went utterly wrecked, eyes dark and unfocused as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth. “You look so good like that,” he said, the words uneven and breathless, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.
You moaned around him at the praise, and Peter nearly folded. His hand left the wall and landed on the back of the couch instead, gripping it hard while his other hand stayed buried in your hair. You pulled back, breathing through your nose, then took him deeper again, relaxing your jaw until the head of his cock pressed farther into your mouth and made your eyes water slightly.
Peter noticed instantly, his expression flashing with concern through the haze of pleasure, and his hand loosened in your hair as if he was ready to pull you off. Instead, you looked up at him and kept going, letting your tongue move against him while you held his gaze. That did something awful to him.
His mouth fell open, no sound coming out for half a second before a loud, broken moan finally escaped. His cock pulsed against your tongue, precum spilling thicker now, and you swallowed around him just enough to make his thighs tense beneath your hands. “Baby,” he gasped, the pet name sounding almost ruined, “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”
You pulled back again, but only to lick across the head and smear the mess over your lips before taking him back in. Peter looked down at your mouth, then at your eyes, and the flush across his face deepened into something almost feverish.
You stroked the base with your hand while sucking the head, tongue flicking over the slit each time more precum gathered there, and his hips began to shake with the effort of keeping still.
Every sound he made was raw and immediate. A gasp when you tightened your lips. A moan when you dragged your tongue underneath.
A broken little whimper when your hand slid lower and cupped him gently while your mouth kept working over the tip. His cock throbbed heavily in your grip, the skin slick and hot, and you could feel how close he was by the way his body kept tensing, releasing, then tensing again.
Peter’s fingers curled through your hair without pulling, his eyes never leaving your face now, and the naked want in his expression made your own body ache. He looked like he wanted to apologise for how desperate he was, but every sound coming out of him said he didn’t want you to stop.
You didn’t. You sank down again, slower this time, taking him as far as you comfortably could while your hand worked the rest in a tight, wet rhythm. Peter’s head tipped back, throat working around a helpless moan as his stomach muscles tightened sharply.
His cock pulsed hard against your tongue, and you felt the exact moment he started losing control, the rhythm of his breathing breaking apart while his hips gave another restrained little thrust.
“I’m close,” he warned, voice strained and shaky. You answered by moaning around him and looking up, letting him see that you’d heard him and weren’t moving away. Peter’s eyes snapped back down to yours, stunned and overwhelmed, and the sight of you on your knees with your lips wrapped around him seemed to push him right to the edge.
His hand tightened in your hair, not guiding, just holding on, and he made the softest, most wrecked sound when your tongue pressed firmly along the underside of his cock. Then his whole body shuddered, his cock swelling against your tongue, and he came with a loud, broken moan, spilling hot into your mouth while his hips jerked forward once before he caught himself.
You kept your mouth on him through it, taking every pulse while Peter trembled above you. His cum coated your tongue in warm, salty bursts, and his sounds turned softer but no less desperate as you slowly worked him through the aftershocks.
His hand slid from your hair to the side of your face, fingers shaking slightly as he looked down at you with his mouth open and eyes blown wide. You didn’t pull away until his cock softened only a little against your tongue and his breathing had turned ragged enough that each exhale sounded almost pained.
When you finally let him slip from your mouth, a thin string of spit and cum connected your lower lip to the flushed head for a second before breaking. Peter stared at it like the sight might actually finish him all over again.
You swallowed slowly while looking up at him, and the tiny sound that left him afterward was almost pathetic. His thumb brushed over your cheek, tender despite the filth of the moment, and for a second neither of you moved.
Then you leaned forward and pressed one last slow kiss to the sensitive tip of his cock, just enough to make him twitch and suck in a sharp breath. Peter’s knees actually bent slightly that time, his hand dropping back to the wall for balance while he gave you a breathless, almost wounded look.
“You’re trying to kill me,” he said, voice hoarse and uneven. You smiled up at him, still on your knees, lips wet and swollen, your thighs sticky from your own earlier orgasm and your chest bare beneath the dim light of the room.
Peter looked at you like he didn’t know whether to pull you up and kiss you or collapse right there in front of you. His cock was still slick between you, sensitive and flushed, a little cum still glistening near the slit, and even though he’d just finished, the way his eyes moved over your face and boobs made it obvious he wasn’t done wanting you.
He reached down carefully and slid his hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up with a softness that somehow made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Then he bent, caught your mouth in a deep, messy kiss and moaned when he tasted himself on your tongue.
The kiss didn’t stay soft for even a second. Peter bent over you with one hand still beneath your chin, mouth opening immediately when yours did, and the taste of him on your tongue made his whole body tense like the filth of it had travelled straight through him. You rose from your knees slowly, legs still unsteady, but the second you were upright your hands went to his chest and pushed.
Peter let you move him without resistance, stumbling backward until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he dropped onto it with a breathless little sound. His cock was still flushed and slick from your mouth, softer than before but not fully down, lying heavy against his lower stomach with the head still wet and sensitive.
Peter looked up at you with messy hair, swollen lips and a dazed kind of hunger still all over his face, like he should’ve been spent but wasn’t even close to done wanting you. You climbed over him before he could say anything, one knee sinking into the cushion beside his hip and then the other until you were straddling his lap, your pussy hovering over his cock while he stared down between your bodies.
His hands immediately went to your waist, fingers spreading over your skin like he needed to feel you everywhere at once. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling him twitch weakly in your palm, still wet with spit and cum, and Peter’s breath caught when you dragged the softened head through your folds.
He made a broken sound when you pressed the tip against your entrance, his eyes snapping up to your face as if he hadn’t expected you to move so quickly. You didn’t give him much warning. You sank down slowly, pushing the slightly soft head inside your wet pussy and feeling your body stretch around the thickness of him even before he was fully hard again.
Peter’s mouth fell open. His fingers tightened on your waist, and the noise that came out of him was low and helpless, almost overwhelmed by the sensation of your slick cunt surrounding him while he was still sensitive from cumming in your mouth. “I wanna feel you get hard inside me,” you murmured, leaning down until your mouth brushed his ear, and Peter’s hips jolted upward beneath you at the words.
You took him deeper inch by inch, your pussy hot and soaked enough to pull him in despite the softness still lingering in his cock, and every little squeeze of your walls made him swell more against you. Peter’s head fell back against the couch, throat exposed, chest rising sharply as he tried to breathe through it.
You could feel the change happening in real time, his cock thickening inside you, filling you more completely with each pulse, going from pliant and sensitive to heavier, harder, more insistent as your body clenched around him. The feeling was filthy enough to make your own breath shake, because you could tell exactly when he tipped over from recovering into needing you all over again.
Once Peter was hard inside you, the stretch became almost too good. His cock filled you properly now, thick and hot, pressing deep every time you lowered your hips until your thighs trembled around his lap. You started riding him slowly at first, hands braced on his shoulders while you lifted yourself almost to the tip and sank back down with a wet, aching drag.
Peter groaned loudly, not bothering to hold back, his hands sliding from your waist to your ass so he could help guide the movement. His fingers kneaded into you, spreading you slightly each time you took him back in, and the pressure made his cock feel even deeper as your pussy swallowed him over and over.
“You feel so good,” he breathed, voice rough against your throat as he leaned forward, mouth dragging along your neck. You tipped your head to give him room, and Peter immediately took advantage, kissing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw before biting down just enough to make you gasp.
His cock jerked inside you at the sound, and you answered by rolling your hips harder, grinding down until your clit rubbed against his body and your cunt tightened around him. Peter’s mouth opened against your neck in another moan, loud and unrestrained, his teeth scraping your skin before he sucked a mark there like he wanted you to feel him even after this was over.
His hands couldn’t seem to settle in one place. They gripped your ass, slid up your back, then came around to your boobs with a kind of greedy tenderness that made your rhythm falter. Peter cupped them while you rode him, thumbs brushing over your nipples as your hips moved in slow, filthy rolls over his cock.
Every time you sank down, his palms squeezed the soft weight of your boobs, and when you lifted again his thumbs circled your nipples until they tightened beneath his touch. You moaned his name and leaned back slightly, giving him more room to look, and Peter’s eyes dropped immediately to the way your chest moved with every bounce of your hips.
He looked wrecked by it, flushed and open-mouthed, his cock twitching deep inside you as he watched his hands cover your boobs. You shifted your own hands down from his shoulders to his chest, dragging your thumbs over his nipples in return. Peter’s reaction was instant.
His stomach tensed, his hips jerked up into you and a sharp moan broke out of him before he could swallow it. You did it again, slower this time, brushing both thumbs over his nipples before pinching lightly, and Peter’s head tipped back with another loud, helpless sound as his cock pulsed inside your pussy.
You rode him harder after that, spurred on by every noise he made. The couch creaked beneath you both, the slick slide of his cock in and out of your pussy growing louder as your arousal mixed with what was left of his cum and your spit.
Peter’s hands returned to your ass, gripping you tighter now, fingers digging in while he helped pull you down onto him. You could feel him everywhere, deep in your stomach, dragging against every sensitive place inside you, and each time your clit rubbed against him another pulse of pleasure tightened low in your belly.
Peter kept kissing and biting your neck between moans, sometimes missing your skin entirely because his head would drop forward when your pussy clenched particularly hard around him.
“I can’t,” he gasped at one point, though he didn’t sound like he wanted you to stop. His hips kept rising into you, sloppy and eager, meeting every downward roll of your body like he couldn’t stand not being as deep as possible.
You threaded one hand through his hair and pulled his head back so you could kiss him, and Peter moaned into your mouth when your thumb brushed his nipple again. For a while it was just that, your bodies moving together on the couch, your pussy taking him again and again, his hands on your ass, his mouth on your neck, both of you getting close but not quite falling over the edge.
Then Peter seemed to decide he needed more. His grip on your ass shifted, fingers spreading wider, and before you could fully process the change, he planted his feet more firmly on the floor and stood with you still wrapped around him. The movement made you gasp, arms flying around his shoulders as his cock drove deeper inside you from the sudden lift.
Peter held you easily, one arm locked beneath your ass while the other hand gripped your hip, and the sheer strength of him made your pussy clench so hard that his eyes squeezed shut. “There,” he breathed, voice strained and wrecked, adjusting his hold until your back was slightly arched and your thighs were tight around his waist. Then he started fucking up into you.
The first thrust knocked the air from your lungs, his cock driving into you from below with a force the couch hadn’t allowed, and Peter’s moan broke apart against your neck as he did it again. His hands gripped your ass, spreading and lifting you so he could fuck upward into your pussy in deep, rough strokes that made your whole body bounce against him.
You clung to his shoulders, nails dragging over his skin, while his mouth found your neck again and bit down through another loud groan. Every thrust pushed him deeper, every upward snap of his hips dragged a helpless sound from you, and Peter’s control seemed to unravel completely when he realised this was what would make you both cum.
It happened fast once he was standing. Your body was already oversensitive from the first orgasm and from riding him, and now every upward thrust punched pleasure through you so sharply that your thighs started shaking around his waist. Peter felt it immediately. His grip on your ass tightened, holding you open and lifted while his hips worked up into you with desperate rhythm.
His mouth moved messily over your neck, biting, kissing, breathing your name against your skin in broken pieces. You could feel his cock swelling even harder inside you, the head dragging against that deep sensitive spot until your whole body started to go tight. “Peter,” you gasped, and the way his name broke out of you made him moan loudly against your throat.
His thrusts got rougher, less controlled, his stomach pressing against your clit every time he drove up, and that final pressure was what sent you over. Your orgasm hit while he was still holding you off the floor, your pussy clamping down around his cock so hard that Peter nearly stumbled back into the couch.
He caught himself, swore softly under his breath, then came with you, hips jerking upward as he buried himself as deep as he could and spilled inside you. His cum filled you in hot, heavy pulses while your own release soaked around him, the mixture making every tiny aftershock wetter and messier as he held you through it.
Peter collapsed back onto the couch with you still in his lap, both of you breathing hard, his cock still buried inside your trembling pussy. For a few seconds neither of you moved. His forehead rested against your shoulder, his hands spread over your ass and lower back, and every little twitch of your cunt around him made him exhale shakily against your skin.
You lifted your head first, dazed and sticky and aching in the best way, then shifted your hips carefully until just the tip of his cock remained inside you. Peter looked down between your bodies, still breathing hard, and you followed his gaze.
Cum immediately began to drip out of your pussy around him, thick and white, mixing with your slick as it slipped down over his cock and gathered messily between your thighs. The sight made Peter’s mouth part around a silent breath. You lifted yourself another fraction, letting more of it spill out of you in a slow, obscene drip, and his fingers tightened on your hips like he was trying not to lose his mind.
You slid two fingers through the mess, scooping up the mixture of his cum and your release before bringing it to your mouth. Peter watched, completely transfixed, as you licked your fingers clean slowly, tongue dragging between them until nothing remained.
You didn’t let him recover from the sight. You leaned in immediately and kissed him, pushing your tongue into his mouth so he could taste the mixture you’d just licked from your fingers. Peter moaned into the kiss, arms tightening around you as his tongue met yours, and the cum-slick taste moved between you in slow, filthy swirls.
You kissed him deeply, letting it coat both your tongues while you still hovered over his softening cock, your pussy dripping onto his lap. Peter didn’t pull away. If anything, he kissed you harder, one hand sliding up your back while the other cupped the back of your head to keep your mouth against his.
When you finally separated, his lips were wet and his eyes were unfocused, his chest rising quickly beneath yours. You stayed there in his lap, legs weak, body sticky, your boobs pressed against his chest and his cum still leaking slowly from your pussy.
Peter looked down between you one more time, then back up at your face, and the ruined little sound he made told you he was already thinking about putting his mouth back there to clean up the mess himself.
Peter didn’t just think about it. He did it.
One second he was staring down between your bodies with that ruined, hungry look still all over his face, eyes fixed on the slow mess of his cum and your release dripping from your pussy and slipping over his softened cock, and the next his hands were already moving. There wasn’t much teasing left in him now, not in the clever, shy, almost nervous way he’d had earlier.
He was too far gone for that, too warm and wrecked and needy, and the little sound he made when more cum slipped out of you was almost pained. His hands tightened around your hips, and before you could even ask what he was doing, Peter shifted beneath you and turned you carefully, one arm braced around your waist so he didn’t let you fall while he guided you down onto your back across the couch.
Your body was loose and heavy from both orgasms, legs still trembling, and Peter handled you like he knew exactly how sensitive you were, even as his expression made it painfully obvious he was barely holding onto his own restraint.
He moved between your thighs with a kind of eager clumsiness that felt so completely Peter, rushed because he wanted it so badly, gentle because it was you.
He pulled your legs up over his shoulders, one at a time, kissing your calf as he settled you open beneath him. The position folded you back just enough that your pussy was completely exposed to him, wet and swollen and messy with everything both of you had left there.
Peter stared for a second longer than he needed to, his mouth parting as his eyes followed the thick drip of cum slipping from your entrance and sliding down through your slick folds. His cock, already softening but still heavy and flushed, twitched weakly against his stomach as he leaned closer.
You saw it happen, saw the way his hips shifted against the couch cushions below him before he even reached your pussy, and the sight made your breath catch in a tired, breathy little laugh. Peter’s eyes flicked up toward your face, cheeks red, but this time he didn’t apologise.
He only turned his head and pressed a slow kiss against the inside of your thigh, then another a little higher, mouth warm and messy against your skin while his hands held you open.
The first lick made both of you shudder. Peter dragged his tongue slowly through your folds, catching the mixture of his cum and your slick where it had gathered against your entrance before licking upward with a deep, open-mouthed hunger that made your stomach tighten even though you were already oversensitive.
You gasped, fingers grabbing at the couch beneath you, and Peter groaned directly into your pussy like the taste had hit him harder than expected. He did it again, slower, tongue pressing between your swollen lips and collecting everything messy and wet from you as though he couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any of it. His eyes fluttered for half a second, and then his hips rolled downward against the floor beneath him.
The motion was small at first, almost involuntary, his body chasing friction while his mouth stayed buried between your thighs. Your legs tightened over his shoulders when you realised what he was doing, and Peter made a needy sound into your cunt as his cock rubbed against the carpet with another desperate little grind.
He licked you clean like it mattered to him. Like it was something he needed. His tongue moved slowly over every slick inch of you, dragging through your folds, circling your entrance, then sweeping upward toward your clit with enough care that he didn’t overwhelm you but still made your whole body twitch beneath him.
Each time he tasted more of the mess, his hips pushed harder against the floor. You could hear the rough little breaths he dragged in between licks, hear the quiet, broken moans he tried and failed to smother against your pussy, and every one made the scene feel dirtier. Peter Parker, still half on his knees, still bare and flushed and sticky from you, was eating his own cum out of your cunt while rutting against the floor like he couldn’t help himself.
His hands stayed locked around your thighs, thumbs rubbing your skin in little soothing strokes that didn’t match the desperation of his mouth at all. You looked down at him through heavy lashes, exhausted and turned on all over again, and whispered his name so softly it barely made it past your lips. Peter answered by pressing his face closer, tongue pushing gently into your entrance while his hips gave another needy grind beneath him.
You were too sensitive to take much more, but Peter seemed to know that without being told. He didn’t try to make you cum again. He didn’t suck hard at your clit or push you past what your trembling body could handle. Instead he cleaned you with slow, filthy devotion, licking away the cum that slipped from you, kissing your folds when your thighs shook too much, murmuring soft, breathless little sounds against your skin whenever you squirmed.
His mouth was wet with both of you now, lips shining, chin slick again, and when he finally pulled back to look at your pussy, his expression had gone almost dazed with satisfaction. There was still a little mess at your entrance, and Peter’s eyes fixed on it instantly.
He leaned in one more time, tongue dragging carefully over the spot, and his hips rocked against the floor again with a low, helpless groan. The sound made your chest tighten, fondness mixing with the heavy satisfaction still buzzing through your body. He was completely shameless now, noisy and needy and wrecked, but still so careful with you that it made your heart ache in the middle of all the filth.
When Peter was finally satisfied, he didn’t move away from you immediately. He pressed a lingering kiss to your inner thigh, then another to the other one, mouth soft and warm where he’d just had you shaking. His hands slid down from your thighs to your hips, thumbs brushing lazily over your skin as he lowered your legs from his shoulders.
You were limp enough that he had to help guide them back down, and he did it with a tired tenderness that made you want to pull him up and keep him there. Peter kissed the inside of your knee, then the top of your thigh, then slowly made his way upward. His lips travelled over your hip, across the lower curve of your stomach, and then higher still, leaving warm little kisses over every inch he could reach.
He looked exhausted now, properly drained, his hair a complete disaster, his mouth still wet, his eyes half-lidded with that soft post-sex haze that made him look younger and sweeter again. By the time he reached your ribs, his body had already started to sag with the weight of everything you’d both done.
He collapsed beside you on the couch with a heavy, breathless exhale, half on his side and half against you because there wasn’t really enough room for both of you to lie comfortably. Neither of you cared. Peter’s arm immediately found your waist, dragging you closer until your bare skin pressed against his, warm and sticky and familiar.
His face tucked into the side of your neck, and for a moment all you could hear was both of you breathing, the movie still playing uselessly in the background, completely forgotten. You were sure the apartment was a disaster.
His suit was probably in a half-peeled heap somewhere near the couch, your shirt had been abandoned behind it, your panties were still somewhere in the wreckage, and the blanket had slid halfway onto the floor. Peter shifted like he might attempt to sit up, always so painfully ready to take care of things even when he looked like he could fall asleep mid-breath, but you caught his arm before he could go anywhere.
You reached down blindly until your fingers found the blanket and pulled it up over both of you, covering your bare bodies in a crooked, warm mess. Peter let out a soft sound when the fabric settled over his shoulders, his arm tightening around you as if the permission to stop moving had finally reached him.
You tucked yourself against his chest, your legs still weak, your body still sticky, your throat still a little dry from everything you’d said and moaned, and you felt Peter press one final lazy kiss to the top of your head. “We can clean up later,” you mumbled sleepily, barely managing to get the words out before your eyes started drifting shut.
Peter’s quiet laugh rumbled against you, tired and warm and completely spent. His fingers traced one absent line up your spine beneath the blanket before coming to rest against your back, holding you close. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough from all the sounds he’d made for you. “Later.”
summary: you’re having a rough night with your family and need a break, so you leave the house and end up at ellis’ place. he doesn’t ask too many questions, he just lets you stay and makes sure you know you don’t have to be alone.
pairings: ellis x fem!reader
a/n: hello guys… i know i always disappear and IM SORRYYYYY but im currently so obsessed with this show! i loved itt and where the fuck are the fics????? so here i am making one i might also make one for ramona because i love her. ramona and ellis might be my favs… UHH ok i hope you guys enjoy my ass writing and don’t forget to send requests!!! omg school starting for me again.. fml.
you hadn’t really planned on going anywhere but you just knew you couldn’t stay in your house anymore. everything your family did was just making out mad and they just judged you for everything and never helped you.
the argument had started over something stupid, like most arguments with your family did. it was always something small that somehow turned into something bigger, and before you knew it, you were standing in your room with your eyes burning and your chest feeling tight.
you grabbed your hoodie and left before anyone could stop you and didn’t even think about where you were going until you were already halfway there.
ellis.
for some reason, whenever you were having a bad day, he was the first person you thought about. you didn’t even know if he was home, or if he’d even want you showing up this late, but you still kept walking.
and by the time you got to his house, you were already regretting it. You stood on his porch for a few seconds, staring at the door.
“fuck.” you almost turned around because you suddenly thought this was a bad idea.. what if he’s not up?
then the door opened.
and the second ellis opened the door and saw you standing there, he knew something was wrong. you were trying so hard to keep your face straight, but your eyes were already red and there were still tears sitting on your cheeks. you looked away from him quickly, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie like you could somehow pretend he hadn’t noticed.
“hey,” he said quietly.
you looked down, wiping your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie. “hi.”
ellis didn’t ask what happened. he’d known you long enough to know that if you wanted to talk about it, you would. instead, he stepped aside and opened the door wider for you.
“come in.”
you walked past him, keeping your head down as he shut the door behind you. for a second, neither of you said anything. you stood there awkwardly in the middle of his living room, suddenly wondering if coming here had been a stupid idea.
ellis looked at you again before walking over and gently taking your hand. “come on,” he said softly. “sit down.”
he led you over to the couch and sat beside you, leaving enough space for you to move closer if you wanted to. you stared down at your hands, trying to keep yourself together, but the second you felt his hand rest against your back, your eyes started filling up again.
“hey,” he murmured, holding your hand. “it’s okay.”
you shook your head, trying to laugh it off even though your voice came out shaky. “i’m sorry. i don’t even know why i’m here.”
“you don’t have to be sorry.”
that makes you look at him
“you can come here whenever you want.” he says it in the most soft voice ever.
that was enough to make another tear fall, and you quickly wiped it away. ellis didn’t say anything about it. he just stayed beside you, his hand still resting in yours like he wasn’t going anywhere.
after a few quiet seconds, you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. he shifted slightly so you could get comfortable, then looked down at you.
“you wanna tell me what happened?”
you were quiet for a moment, staring down at your hands before finally letting out a shaky breath. “it’s just my family. we got into this huge argument and i know it’s probably stupid, but i just—i don’t know. i feel like everything is my fault. maybe if i had just kept my mouth shut, none of it would’ve happened and i wouldn’t have made everything worse.”
ellis frowned slightly, watching you as you kept talking before you could even give yourself a second to breathe.
“and i know i shouldn’t have left, because now they’re probably even more pissed at me, and i should’ve just stayed there and dealt with it. i always do this, i make everything worse and then i run away when things get hard and—”
“hey.”
you stopped.
ellis was looking at you, his expression soft but serious. “it’s not your fault.”
you opened your mouth, but he shook his head before you could argue with him.
“no. don’t do that,” he said quietly. “don’t sit here and blame yourself for everything just because you’re upset.”
you looked away, blinking quickly as your eyes started filling with tears again. “but i could’ve handled it better.”
“maybe,” he said, not trying to completely dismiss what you were saying. “but that doesn’t mean you deserved to feel like this.”
you stayed quiet, rubbing your sleeve between your fingers.
“you needed a break,” he continued. “so you took one. that’s all.”
“i just hate that i can’t fix anything.” you said looking away from him you just couldn’t look.
“you don’t have to fix it tonight.”
but that made you look up at him again..
ellis gave you a small shrug, his hand moving back to your arm. “you came here because you needed somewhere to go. so stay.”
your lip trembled slightly, and you quickly looked down again. “i’m sorry,” you whispered.
“for what?”
“for showing up like this.”
he almost looked confused by that. “you don’t have to apologize for coming to me.”
that finally broke whatever little bit of composure you had left. you covered your face with your hands, letting out a quiet, shaky breath as the tears started falling again.
ellis didn’t say anything for a moment. but seeing you cry?? he didn’t hesitate and pulled you into his arms immediately. you moved closer, letting him pull you into his chest as his arms wrapped around you.
you buried your face against his shoulder, gripping the back of his hoodie while he held you tightly.
ellis rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, one hand moving slowly up and down your back.
you stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing. slowly, the tight feeling in your chest started to fade, and you finally pulled back just enough to look at him.
ellis looked down at you, his hand still resting against your back. neither of you said anything for a moment. you were still close, and you could feel his eyes moving over your face like he was making sure you were actually okay.
“you okay?” he asked quietly.
you nodded. “yeah. a little.”
he smiled softly. “good.”
neither of you moved. you looked down for a second, suddenly nervous about how close you still were. when you looked back up, ellis was already looking at you.
“what?” you asked quietly.
“nothing.”
you gave him a small smile. “you’re staring.”
“i know.”
you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “you’re weird.”
“yeah, probably.” there was another quiet moment, but this one felt different. ellis looked at you for another second before his eyes dropped to your lips. he hesitated, almost like he was giving you the chance to move away.
you didn’t.
instead, he leaned closer and kissed you.. the kiss was soft and quick because he wanted to make sure you wanted this and he didn’t just make a mistake. “sorry,” he murmured. “i just—”
you shook your head, cutting him off. “don’t be.”
he smiled a little. you looked at him for another second before quietly saying, “do that again.”
ellis didn’t need to be told twice. he leaned in and kissed you again, and this time you smiled against him, your hand lightly gripping the sleeve of his hoodie.
You shift your weight on top of him, and he seems to go still for half a second like he’s trying to catch up with how close you are. then his arms tighten on your waist without letting it break. his mouth deepens against yours, slow and warm, like he’s savoring every second he gets.
you rock gently, and he makes a soft sound right into the kiss, breathing unevenly as his hand slides to your thigh and holds you there. when you pause, even for a moment, he doesn’t let the moment pass he cups your face with his other hand and presses closer, forehead brushing yours as he kisses you again, longer this time.
and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel like you needed to go anywhere.
OKAY WE AINT GETTING TOO FREAKY NOW- that was so hard to write because i don’t go that far i just do a kiss and call it a day.. lmao. to all my smut writers… ur amazing idk how you do it. KEEP IT UPPPP! but anyways how did you guys like this?? guys be honest is it good because i always don’t like my writing. so let me know.. I HOPE U GUYS ENJOYEDDD AND U CAN SEND MORE REQUESTS FOR STERLING POINT (i do others to not just ellis but promise ramona fic coming soon) BYEE!!!!
Ambulance Driver!Steve Harrington x Paramedic!reader
SUMMARY: Becoming a paramedic was both the worst and best decision you've made. The relentless bullying from the staff would've had you handing in your notice if it wasn't for Steve Harrington wanting to be around you so much that he decided to work alongside you. It took years of sobbing in his arms after a long day of helping people and him standing up for you at an award ceremony for you to realise that you couldn't love anyone more than him.
CONTENT: Friends/ co-workers to lovers, ambulance driver!steve/ ECA!steve, paramedic!reader, angst, set after season 5, bad treatment from the staff towards reader, steve pining, female reader, award ceremony, partying, kissing, steve defends reader's ass (as he should), robin and nancy being your top supporters ever, alcohol consumption, fluff (a disgusting amount of it)
WORD COUNT: 4.9K
NIA'S NOTES: Inspired by matilda mann's song after the love 🥹 please go stream that song. she's my angel baby 💕 I really love this pairing actually. I possssibly will write more for this !! It's actually SICKENING how cute this is. I think part of myself died writing this. enjoy my loves, thank you for being patient 💕
Steve swore to you that he wasn’t following your steps, but when he ended up as your work partner, sounding the sirens, speeding down the lanes to reach your patient, you couldn’t exactly agree with him.
During your first shift with him, as he was driving you both back to the hospital with the lights and sirens off, he turned to you and told you that Robin said to him that he’d be great at driving an ambulance, though you were sure that she said it sarcastically and he took it literally. He wasn’t a bad driver of any sorts, definitely not, but it didn’t seem like something he’d get himself into.
He’d already seen every part of you in the first few weeks of working together. Parts of yourself that even Nancy and Robin haven’t seen before. He wasn’t special for getting to see those sides of yourself, it was part of the job. You would’ve never let him see the ugly side of yourself if you were outside of work.
Crying in Steve’s arms was something nobody would’ve guessed you’d be doing after a long shift. He took every chance he could to wrap you up in his big arms, guide your head to his chest when you’d end up in tears. He’d whisper sweet words into your hair that you’d never dare to bring up to him. You liked it more than you’d like to admit.
He got to see how the other staff treated you when you weren’t on call. How they’d call you ‘lazy’ and ‘useless’ when the day before that, you’d saved a patient that was in a life-threatening condition. How they all planned to go out for drinks but would never invite you to go along with them. Steve tried to bring it up to you, but you shrugged it off and told him it didn’t bother you, but it clearly did, and he saw how much it did.
If you had the choice to not be at an award ceremony of all places right now, you’d be curled up under your sheets, smiling to yourself because you didn’t need to walk from table to table to greet everyone there and try talk about something interesting in your not so interesting life, but you didn’t have the choice. Of course you didn’t.
You’ve been stood at the drinks stand since you arrived at the award ceremony five minutes ago, cup to your lips, tilting your head back, but the liquid doesn’t meet your lips once. You planned on driving yourself home, which meant no drinking. You were trying to keep yourself looking busy whilst you were waiting for Robin and Nancy to arrive. More specifically, Steve.
They were the only reason you were attending tonight. When they heard that there was an award ceremony that you and Steve had to attend, they already invited themselves to go along with you, because they weren’t passing up an opportunity to celebrate with their friends and get free drinks.
They also wanted to get a good look at you and Steve together, even though you’ve told them countless times there’s nothing going on between you and him, but the way you look at him and talk about him apparently says otherwise.
The doors open into the hall, and you stick your head out to get a better look at who’s walked in, hoping that it’s someone you know so that you’re not stood at the drinks table for hours looking like you’re only here to get hammered. Robin and Nancy swerve their way around the circular tables that you’re still not sure which one you’re supposed to be sat at. You’ll be shocked if you got a table reserved for you at all.
“Is Steve not with you?” Robin asks as she stops in front of you, raising her eyebrows like she’s expecting for you to know where Steve is all the time just because she has this slight, well, maybe huge feeling that he’s into you.
Of course that had to be the first thing she asked. It feels like they’re trying to wave it in your face now. It seems like a huge shock to them when they see that you’re not with Steve. You and Steve are friends, and it’s not like you have some sort of attachment to him.
“No.” You sigh, flattening a crease in your dress, glancing around the room. “I mean, I haven’t seen him yet.”
Robin snorts with that stupid smile. “Very bold of you to assume that you’d even need to look around to find him.”
You shoot her a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nancy steps beside you with a plastic cup in her hand, a sweet smile on her face. “She means he’ll come up to you as soon as he gets here. You won’t need to look for him. You know what he’s like when it comes to you.” She says it like it should be obvious to you, sipping her drink.
“You’re both making this sound romantic.” You huff, resting your hands on the table behind you.
“Because it is!” Robin laughs, bracing her hands on either side of your arms. “He clearly likes you. It makes me want to pull my eyes out and wash them in soap every time I see him basically drooling over you like a puppy. It’s disgusting, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also really obvious.”
You huff, letting your head flop down to Robin’s shoulder and slumping forward. She brings her hand to your back, gently rubbing up and down. By the time Steve gets here, you’ll already have sunk into the floor after hearing everything that has left Robin’s mouth, and she hasn’t even been in here for five minutes yet. God knows what she’s going to be saying in an hour.
She pauses her hand on your back, and your heart almost stops thinking that Steve has arrived. He’s making you react in ways you don’t want to discuss with anyone, and he isn’t here yet. “You do the exact same thing when you see him, by the way.” She grins.
You lift your head from her shoulder and squint at her.
“You know, he’s probably just as nervous as you.” Nancy assures you, looking over her cup at you. She’s too good at noticing how you feel, it’s terrifying. “It’s a pretty big event and he definitely knows he’s going to be walking in to see you in a gorgeous dress tonight. He’s not going to want to make a complete mess of himself around everyone in here, though he probably will. You look so gorgeous.”
Her comment has your cheeks heating up. “I’m not nervous.” You mumble.
Robin glances at Nancy, then back to you. “You totally are. You’re practically shaking like a leaf.”
You fold your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the goosebumps prickling at your skin, looking down at the floor. “Shut up.” You murmur, completely defeated.
Your face is burning up, and you know that if you even slightly lift your head up, Robin will make some comment about you being so hopelessly in love with him that you might as well shout it out to the world. It only makes it worse knowing that if they can see how obvious you are, then Steve probably can too. The thought of Steve knowing how you feel about him makes your stomach turn. He couldn’t possibly know.
“This is your night tonight.” Nancy says quietly, brushing her thumb over your arm with a small smile. “We’ll be cheering you on. So will he.”
“We don’t even know if he likes me like that. You’re probably digging into it too much. It’s not like he’s said anything.” You whisper, shaking your head in disbelief.
Nancy squeezes your arm. “Trust me, he really does. He doesn’t need to say anything at all for us to know.”
“Speak of the devil.” Robin says, rolling her eyes as Steve comes up behind you, resting his hand on your lower back.
You almost pass out on the spot feeling his big hand splayed out on your back. He does this every time he greets you and it makes your throat go dry every time without fail. Everything in you hopes that he didn’t overhear what they were saying to you seconds ago. Then you’d really want to crawl into a hole and never come back out.
“Devil?” Steve asks Robin. “Where?”
“You have zero self-awareness.” Robin laughs.
You’re too aware of the feeling of Steve’s hand on you that you can’t focus on anything but his hand. So much for trying to stay subtle about how you felt in front of everyone. Nobody speaks until Nancy does that breath in that people do when it gets awkwardly silent and she flashes you and Steve a smile.
“Well, me and Robin are going to head over to our seats now.” Nancy says, turning her attention to you more than to Steve. “We’ll be cheering you on from the side the whole time.”
You flash her a sweet smile, taking a few steps towards her and cringe at already feeling the loss of Steve’s hand on you. She wraps her arms around you for a few seconds before pulling back with a knowing smile. You don’t need to be smart to know what she’s smiling about, and the nerves already start to creep in as you realise that you’re about to be left alone with Steve.
Robin grins at you as she slowly walks backwards towards their seats, saluting to you. “You’ve got this.” She says reassuringly as Nancy steps beside her, walking over to their seats which are all the way across the hall from where you and Steve have to sit. You don’t know whether to be relieved or anxious that they’re going to be nowhere near you for the next few hours. You’re not going to have anyone to tease you about Steve, but you also have no one to lean onto if you stumble on your words in front of him.
Now it’s just you and Steve alone together, you can feel the heat spreading across your cheeks. You haven’t been able to look into his eyes since he got here, because the one thing you don’t want to do is to blankly stare at him because you’ve forgotten every word you’ve learnt up until now.
He steps in front of you with that stupid grin that you’d love to wipe off his face, possibly with a kiss. You’re trying so hard not to get too ahead of yourself. “The dress looks amazing on you.” He swallows but replaces his nerves with a wavering smile. God, he needs to shut up before you embarrass yourself in front of him.
You glance down at your golden, glittery dress that goes down to your feet and then look into his eyes, which was your first biggest mistake of the night. You’re going to end up like one of your patients if he doesn’t stop looking at you like that by the end of the night. Like he’s about to pounce on you. He’s wearing a gorgeous black suit, which is very different from the uniform that he wears on shift.
Your eyes flick down to his tie, which is coincidentally, gold. You had no part in coordinating your outfits, and it’s probably starting to look like you’re a couple. Not that you’d exactly be mad at that, but now you’re starting to wonder if he’s doing this on purpose.
“Thank you, Steve.” You say with an awkward smile, feeling your stomach doing flips at his comment. “I like your suit.” You say, suddenly panicking as you try not to let the conversation die down too soon because of your loss for words. “It’s very different.”
“It’s nice not being in uniform for once.” He grins. “I’m glad I have an excuse to wear this suit. I haven’t worn this in years.” He says as he brushes his hand along his sleeve.
You cover your laugh by shoving your lip between your teeth and that only causes Steve to smile at you more. He’s such an idiot. “I was going to say, it looks a bit small on you.” You manage out, slightly breathlessly.
“It’s not often I go out to events. It’s not something that I’ve done in a while anyway.” He laughs. “If you weren’t here tonight, I wouldn’t have turned up either. Then this suit would be left in my wardrobe to get dusty for a few more years.”
Hearing him say that he wouldn’t have turned up if you didn’t turn up made this feel more special than you thought it was. Then you started to think that maybe he only said that to make you feel better about being here. He knew exactly how you felt about this event without having to ask you.
Either way, his comment made your breath catch in your throat and the tips of your ears burn. He’s always too sweet with his words. You have no idea how you’re still upright with him in front of you saying things like that. He could be saying these things to anyone, and he chose to say them to you.
“Should we go find our table?” You ask quietly.
He nods, gently closing his shaky hand around your wrist as if to check that you don’t mind and then guiding you towards the circular tables. There are place cards set out on each table with tiered sweet treat stands in the centre of the tables. He stops at a table that has your names on place cards next to each other.
You felt a moment of relief seeing that you weren’t placed on a table with people that don’t know you, or worse, people that completely despise you. Steve pulls out the seat for you with a grin, resting his other hand behind his back. If Robin was beside you, she’d probably be fake gagging and telling you to go somewhere more private.
You sit down on the chair, and he takes a seat beside you, resting his elbow on the table. The other people that have been placed on your table are already deep in conversation, probably three drinks into their conversation too, so Steve’s full attention is on you.
“Y’know.” He starts, making you jump. “That dress you’re wearing makes you look like a real winner.”
Those words should make you feel good about yourself but knowing how you’re perceived by the staff you work with, it doesn’t. “I’m not a winner of any sorts, Steve.” You say disappointedly.
He tilts his head to the side and places his hand on your knee, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, where’s this coming from? You deserve to be sat here more than, well, most people in this room.” He says gently, almost concerned for you.
You shake your head, and you can see the second that your words devastate him. His lips are parted like he’s lost for words and his eyes have gone wide and you can feel your mouth starting to go dry. “That’s not what our team thinks of me. They’ll never see me as a winner.”
“I don’t care what they think about you.” He whisper shouts, leaning closer to you. “Neither should you. I mean, God, you have more achievements than all of them combined. They can’t say that about themselves, but you can.” He says, pointing to your chest. “That’s really special.”
You sigh, dropping your eyes to his hand that’s still on your knee. “It’s hard to think like you when I’m constantly around them.”
“I know, but I want you to know that whatever they think, or feel, has nothing to do with you. They’ll never be as successful as you, and they know that.” He says seriously, not taking his eyes away from you once. “You’re the most talented woman I know. Don’t let any man, sorry, I mean, boy, make you feel any other way about that.”
At this point, you stay silent, because there really is nothing else you can say to deny him. Nancy and Robin would say the same thing to you, and you wouldn’t disagree with them either. The staff on your team have been commenting on you since your first day, and it hasn’t got any better. There was nothing you could do, but deep down, you knew that a lot of it came from their idea that they were tougher than you, that they could do better than you.
Your heart is pounding in your chest, and it feels like if you try to speak, nothing but air will slip out, so you settle on staying quiet for the time being. He notices your hesitation to say anything, so he keeps talking. “If anyone deserves an award tonight, it’s you. You deserve all the credit for the things that you have done to help people in these past few years, and that includes you helping the team, even when they’ve made you feel like shit.” He whispers, gently taking your hands into his. “One day, you’ll see how much of an impact you have on people. I want to see you talking good about yourself in the future, because that’s what you deserve.”
Before you can think of what to say back to him, a voice blares through the speakers in the hall, and you and Steve turn your heads to look over. A lady is stood at the front, welcoming everyone in whilst the helpers behind her set up the walkway onto the stage and the certificates that’ll be handed out as everyone walks up to collect theirs.
Steve’s hand is still on yours, gently brushing his thumb over your palm, and you’re staying completely still so that he doesn’t suddenly remove his hand. You’re already sweating under his touch, and it isn’t hot in this hall at all. You can’t tell if you’re nervous about the ceremony or if Steve being so close to you is making your body react in ways that can’t be normal.
The lady starts to read the names of people that have been awarded a certificate from the sheet of paper in front of her, and the text on the paper must be tiny if she’s got her face shoved into the sheet. She starts to read out people’s names one by one, sharing a weak smile before going on to read the next person. There are multiple medical teams here, so you’re expecting her to lose her voice by the end of the presentations.
Chairs scrape against the floorboards as people get up to walk to the stage, picking up their certificates and waving to their friends and family. As the lady keeps reading through the list, you realise that they’ve got everyone’s full legal names down. You can imagine the number of people cringing as they stand up to have their full legal name read out instead of their nicknames.
You glance at your hand that’s covered by Steve’s, and then you side glance at him. “Full legal names, huh?” You grin.
He rolls his eyes, but a grin twitches at his mouth despite his annoyance. “I don’t think a single person in here actually goes by their full name.”
“You’re probably right, Steven.” You laugh, nudging his side with your elbow.
He shoots a glare at you, but he completely fails at trying to act annoyed. You’re convinced that you could never really annoy him after all your attempts to do so.
"It’s an extra letter at the end of your name, Steve. I promise you it won’t be half as bad as some of the names that are being read out right now.” You say with a sweet smile and he squeezes your hand.
“Yeah.” He laughs. “I bet Elizabeth is having a great day after having her name read out.”
You grin at his comment, turning your attention back to the stage. It takes a while for people to read out their personal speeches and for the lady to finally get to your team’s names. You watch as one by one, your team members stand up, high fiving each other before they walk up onto the stage, proudly showing off their certificates as if they put any effort into getting them. The most effort they’ve put in during these few years has been them walking up to the stage, nothing more.
“Steven Harrington.” She calls out and Steve quickly turns to look at you, bringing both your hands into his to squeeze for a moment before he slips out his seat, walking across the walkway to receive his certificate.
His eyes land on you as soon as he steps up on the stage and you hope that he can’t see how flushed your face is. She keeps reading through the list and it comes to a stop after a few more names after Steve’s. The hall erupts with cheers and whistles, but you stay sat down, watching as the lady steps off the stage so that people can get a better look at the award winners.
The realisation sinks deep into you once you realise that you were never put down to get an award, and it had everything to do with your team. Your face drops and you watch as Steve frantically looks around the stage, looking around to see if there was more names to be read out. Your stomach drops seeing him look so devastated. He should be celebrating right now. You should be celebrating together.
Some people start to walk off the stage, sprinting over to their friends and family. Some stay on the stage, badly torn pieces of paper shakily moving in their hands as they line up to read speeches out. Steve glances behind him to see if anyone’s going up first, and when he sees that there isn’t a coordinated queue, he steps up to the microphone before anyone else can, resting his hand on top of it.
“Hey.” He clears his throat, awkwardly glancing around the room. “I didn’t plan a speech at all, so don’t expect anything poetic.”
You’ve never seen Steve look this nervous besides him being nervous around you. There are hundreds of people in this room, and whether their attention is on him or not, his attention is on you. Robin’s definitely going to be teasing him about this once he finishes up with whatever he’s going to say, you can already vision her dramatically playing out everything he says.
He grips onto his certificate, leaning back towards the microphone. “There’s someone that should be up here on the stage with a certificate right now, but she’s not.” He starts sadly, pausing as he thinks about how he should say his next words. “She’s the one person that I think deserves to be awarded for everything she’s done. There hasn’t been one day that she hasn’t put all her effort into helping others, even when it’s been hard for her.”
You’re finding it hard to believe that he’s up on stage, talking so sweetly about you in front of people who don’t care about your successes. You bite down on the inside of your cheek nervously, getting more flustered as he continues to speak about you.
“She never gets enough credit for what she does, and a certificate wouldn’t be enough to credit her at all. She’ll go about her day normally as if she didn’t just save someone that was in a life-threatening condition. She comes up with these amazing ideas on the spot whilst she’s in a stressful situation, that not even I would’ve thought of.” He says, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s also really good with her words. So, whilst she’s helping a patient, she’s comforting that patient’s friend or family member at the same time. How she can multitask like that, I have no idea.” He laughs.
No one else on your team would’ve done this for you, and that’s what’s so special about Steve. He’s never been afraid to talk to people about you. He’s always been there to take care of you after a long day. He always notices when you’re acting off. Now he’s up on the stage, letting everyone know how deserving you are of credit because he loves you so, so much.
It’s only taken you a few years of friendship when you met him through Robin, sobbing in his arms after a long day at work, him listening to your deep conversations on the ride back home in the ambulance after a shift ended and him standing up to talk about you in front of hundreds of people for you to realise that you couldn’t love anyone more than him.
“She shouldn’t be sat at her table right now. She should’ve been the first name that was read out on the list.” He says, looking directly at you. “Nobody deserves an award more than she does.”
He steps back from the microphone, and it takes a few seconds for people to start to stand up, clapping and cheering. Your body blooms with heat as you watch him make his way off the stage, swerving around the tables and breathlessly standing in front of you nervously.
“I’m so sorry that you didn’t get an award.” He manages out, mindlessly throwing his certificate down on the table and placing his hands either side of your face, rubbing his thumbs along your cheeks.
You laugh breathlessly, quickly shaking your head, placing your hands on top of where his are rested on your face. “Hey, Steve, Steve, slow down. It’s okay. I really don’t care.”
“No, that wasn’t okay.” He shakes his head. “You’ve put so much effort in every day, just for you to not be awarded with anything. You deserved to walk up on that stage and be proud of everything that you’ve done. I don’t know who’s in charge of nominating people, but they’re in for serious shit when I…”
“Steve!” You laugh, cutting him off and slipping your hands into his hair, trying to get him to stay still. “Seriously, I don’t care that I didn’t get anything. I don’t put effort in to receive an award. I put effort in because I care about people and I want to help them. This is the least of my worries right now.”
He stays silent as he tries to catch his breath, and you take that as your sign to say more. “What you did for me was all that was important to me. Your speech was more important than a certificate.” You say quietly. “You told people about things I’ve done that nobody would’ve known until today. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has done for me, Steve.”
“That’s what you deserve. You deserved everyone that stood up and cheered for you.” He smiles, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours, dropping his hands to your hips. He’s never been this close to you before, and you can feel your heart in your throat. “I like this.” He says quietly. “I also hope you realise how much I love you because fuck, I think I’m dying over here. Shit… I really hope I’m saying this at the right time.”
“I think I already worked that out a while ago, but it’s a perfect time to tell me.” You whisper with a small laugh, brushing your hands through his hair. “I love you, Steve.”
He grins, pulling you closer to him by your hips. His hand slips up to cup your cheek, carefully lifting your face up so that you’re looking directly at him. He brushes his lips against yours in a gentle kiss and your nerves start to settle for the first time tonight. For the first time tonight, you didn’t feel like you were out of place in a place that wasn’t so accepting of you.
Once he pulled back, you felt the loss of his soft lips on yours and craved more of it. There was no way you were getting to the end of the night with only one kiss from him. His face is hot to the touch, and he was struggling to take a breath in, and you couldn’t blame him. Your mind was moving at a million miles per hour right now.
He slips his hand into yours, and without a thought, leads you through a crowd of people that are drunkenly dancing under a mirrorball. “We’re not staying in here a second longer.” He mutters under his breath, pushing past all the people that were tightly squished together in one space.
Once he manages to get you both outside, he lets out a relieved breath and leads you to his car that’s parked in the front parking lot. He stops in front of his car with a cocky grin, leaning back in and pressing his lips to yours in a frantic kiss. His hands are all over your body, not sure where to place them. Your laughs are muffled against his lips, and he takes his chance to slip his tongue past your parted lips.
“Pretty.” He murmurs against your lips breathlessly.
You slowly pull away, your cheeks flushed. “I see what Robin means.” You laugh.
He raises his eyebrows at you, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing great comes out of Robin’s mouth. Seriously. I don’t think I want to know what she said.”
You grin. “For the best.”
He rests his hands on your hips again, pulling you close to his chest and pressing his lips to the top of your head. His shoulders drop as he holds you close to him. “Think we should move this to my room.”
Thank you for reading!! Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕 So sorry it took me a while to get to this. My cramps ended up taking me out 😫 I'm actually sick at how cute this is
